


And All the Altars Will Shine

by thevorpalsword



Series: U.S. Alternate Route [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Detective!Castiel, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Horror, Hunter!Sam, M/M, Mild Gore, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, Openly Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Temporary Character Death, The Empty (Supernatural), and takes it pretty well considering, cas gets read in on the whole supernatural things exist, dean finds that hot, hunter!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thevorpalsword/pseuds/thevorpalsword
Summary: Castiel shoves back from the desk and jumps to his feet, feeling the overwhelming urge to start running. Disbelief wars in him with terror as the thing on the screen molds itself into the visage of a man - tall, leanly built with a broad chest. The part of Cas that is ever the police officer collects the details as quickly as they become apparent: white male, dark short hair that sticks up in messy tufts, dark slacks and shoes, white button up shirt, crooked tie, a suit jacket and trench coat over top.Eyes that Cas has seen every day of his life in the mirror look up at one of the cameras, and even though the view is washed completely out with green Cas knows without a doubt that the thing’s eyes are blue.Castiel Novak didn't expect his entire world view to be upended in a single instant. And yet, here he is, getting chased by monsters that defy description, working with probable criminals, and just having a really rough night all around.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: U.S. Alternate Route [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777888
Comments: 59
Kudos: 141





	1. First Glance

**Author's Note:**

> This story would never have been written down without the patient encouragement of Jaeh. She let me bounce ideas off her, pick her brain about dialogue, grammar, tone, themes, AND THEN edited the entire thing. My most heart-felt thanks also goes to RVABritt. She let me talk her ear off about this story while in line at SDCC. She helped me endlessly with structure and found all my plot holes to help me fill them. So to the two of them: thank you both so much. This is here because of you.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!”

Detective Castiel Novak swears angrily under his breath as he frantically fumbles the plug of a power strip into a different socket, hoping that this time it would be the right one. 

The handheld radio on the desk keeps time for him. Every 15 seconds it sounds a single tone, letting him know that the police channel is still in emergency status. Chatter breaks through as officers sling information back and forth about the ongoing foot chase. An officer who Castiel can’t recognize by voice alone pants out his present location. 

“Corner of - Hanover and - Cooper, he’s - still - heading north!”

“Dispatch copy, all units be advised 143Echo is still in pursuit. Subject is a white male, late twenties, 6’4”, brown hair, wearing jeans and a green shirt. Last seen heading north on Hanover Street at Cooper.”

There had been a shooting. The shots hit a transformer and suddenly, cascading power outages occurred all over the east side of the city.

Including the police station. 

The windowless room is pitch dark without power. A set of emergency lights in the hallway glow a dim blue, giving him just barely enough light to continue scrabbling under the desk he is currently crouched under. Cas isn't excited about being regulated to camera room shifts since his removal from active duty pending an internal investigation. The current conditions make the overall sense of uselessness worse since all of his cameras are now inaccessible. 

“Dispatch to Camera Room, do you have eyes on the suspect?”

Cas blindly gropes along the surface of the desk for his radio, barely managing to catch it before he knocks it off.

“Dispatch - negative, Camera Room has no view of the area. The power outage has affected the police station. Will update if I’m able to bring anything up,” Cas growls into his radio. He tosses the radio down on the floor and goes back to checking the next outlet with the power strip. At least one of these outlets has to be looped into the back up power generator in the basement - the hard part is finding it. 

“Dispatch copy.”

Suddenly, a weird, sickly green light floods the small space. Cas jumps, startled, and bangs his head on the underside of the desk. Cursing some more, he surfaces and cranes his head around wildly looking for the source. Towards the front of the room, he realizes there’s a pair of computer monitors that are showing a set of 4 camera views.

He gets up and rushes over to the terminal.The camera room isn’t very large, just enough room for two rows of three terminals each. However, Cas has been under the impression only the back row actually worked. Apparently he's wrong, and at least one of the front row computers was set up to run on emergency power. He mentally winces - he’s gonna have to sort out the terminal he’d been messing with otherwise the other camera room operatives will be pissed later.

Cas nudges the mouse, trying to get the camera menu to come up. He wants to navigate to the set of cameras that are over on Hanover Street, maybe get a good screen grab of the shooting suspect. If the description is accurate, finding a man that tall shouldn’t be too hard, even though it’s currently night and the camera conditions aren’t ideal.

Nothing happens. 

Cas takes a closer look at the open windows and realizes this doesn’t appear to be the same camera program he’s used too. In fact, there doesn’t appear to be any options at all. It’s just four camera views of the same intersection. Cas squints at the top of the window, deeply confused.

“Harrow and Willow?” he reads. It’s about 2 miles from the station, in an older part of the city. From what he can see on the cameras the street lights appear to be out. The only reason he can see anything is thanks to the waxing half moon that gives the night vision cameras enough ambient light to work with. 

“143Echo to Dispatch - suspect has been - detained.”

Cas glances back over to the row of desks behind him - he’s forgotten his radio on the floor.

“Dispatch copy, one party detained. Location?”

“On Hanover, between Fishburne and Broad.”

“Dispatch copy. Returning Channel 3 to normal traffic, we are no longer in emergency status. 2042.”

Cas sighs and drops bonelessly into the office chair by the desk, utterly relieved. He pulls his phone out and shoots a text off to his Lieutenant. He lets her know that the power is out at the station, but that he’s monitoring the cameras from the emergency power terminal.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees something move on the screen.

Cas looks up. The intersection sits innocently on screen. He frowns. Four separate cameras for one intersection? That seems...strange. His department isn’t a particularly well funded one, and so they don’t have a lot of city cameras. Most of the ones they do have are set up at high traffic intersections; and even those intersections only have two cameras, max. Why on Earth does this one have four?

And why are they feeding in through a different program?

“137Echo on scene with 124.”

“Dispatch copy, 137Echo.” 

His radio continues to chatter, as officers report on the status of the suspect and sort out his transport to the station amongst themselves and the on duty sergeant. Cas nudges the mouse again, looking for any kind of menu option. He clicks around a bit, on the title bar, on the image itself, at the corners. No menu appears.

He taps the escape key. The program doesn’t close or even minimize. 

Something moves again on the screen.

Cas leans forward and this time, watches carefully. His phone chimes to let him know he has a message. He doesn’t look away from the computer screen.

There!

Cas watches, stunned as the something...moves on the pavement. He doesn’t know how to describe it but the pavement looks like it’s...rippling. Like the surface of the asphalt has somehow become a liquid and there is something touching the surface, sending out ripples in all directions. Sliding and shifting shadows appear in the lulls.

Cas closes his eyes, shakes his head a bit, like he’s trying to clear water from his ears. 

“What the hell?” he whispers to himself, before opening his eyes again.

The shadows are more prominent now. He scans the surrounding street side, looking for anything that could be casting those shadows - but it’s all just buildings.

Then the shadows move.

Cas watches, with open mouthed horror as something grows from the pavement. The shadows pulling in and climbing atop itself, gliding and coiling up and up. It builds itself, forms, and then shrugs - almost like a person shifting their shoulders in a coat that doesn’t fit right. A head rolls forward from the back, floppy and disarticulated. A slash appears, cavernous and gleaming, an empty white tear in the fluid fabric and sharp points drop in. The edges of the rip tilt upwards.

It smiles.

Cas shoves back from the desk and jumps to his feet, feeling the overwhelming urge to start running. Disbelief wars in him with terror as the thing on the screen molds itself into the visage of a man - tall, leanly built with a broad chest. Features begin to form from the shadowy ooze, the slick appearing texture transforming into textiles and flesh. The part of Cas that is ever the police officer collects the details as quickly as they become apparent: white male, dark short hair that sticks up in messy tufts, dark slacks and shoes, white button up shirt, crooked tie, a suit jacket and trench coat over top.

Eyes that Cas has seen every day of his life in the mirror look up at one of the cameras, and even though the view is washed completely out with green Cas knows without a doubt that the thing’s eyes are blue. 

“W-w-what?” Cas asks helplessly. 

The creature raises a hand and waves its fingers in greeting, its face - his face - twisted into a mocking, sarcastic grin. It then turns on heel and stalks off, the long legged gait eating up the distance and just like that it’s gone from camera view completely, leaving behind the quiet, empty street once more. How could the thing have known Cas was watching? How could it have known to take on his visage?

His phone buzzes in his hand again, and Cas startles. Out of habit, he looks down to see his Lieutenant has responded.

Lt. Mills (20:43): what terminal are you talking about? I didn’t think we had any set up to run on backup power.

Lt. Mills (20:45): I logged on. Looks like all the cameras are out in the area. You’re free to leave for the night. Go home and get some sleep.

Cas isn’t sure he was ever going to sleep again. His heart races in his chest, and he feels strangely out of breath and somewhat dizzy. Slowly, he reaches around and finds the desk chair. Carefully he sits down, looking again at the camera views on the screen, wondering if he’d just hallucinated. 

He takes in one deep breath, and then another, forcing himself to do it slowly. He rolls the chair forward to the desk again. 

“Only one way to find out,” he mutters to himself and sets his jaw sternly. He nudges the mouse again - there’s still no menu but playback controls appear along the bottom.

He clicks on the rewind icon and waits to see what happens.

← → 

“God-fucking-damnit, Sammy!”

Dean Winchester swears as he runs down the pitch dark street. He quickly ducks behind a convenient car when a cop goes roaring by with lights and sirens. He waits, and only takes off again when the car is well past him. 

His moronic little brother had better not have gotten fucking caught. 

The lack of street lights makes Dean more careful than normal. The last thing he needs is to take an accidental header off a misplaced curb because the moonlight is giving everything a weird depth. But he’s pressed for time - he’s at least 3 or 4 blocks away if his memory of the old maps are accurate.

Christ, he hopes they are. 

Dean skids as he rounds a corner and nearly loses his footing. Still swearing, he fumbles in his pocket for his flashlight. He doesn’t hear any more sirens nearby and decides to risk the light, flicking it on. Desperate, he pushes himself faster now, clearing the next two blocks in a few seconds. The intersection he’s looking for looms ahead but he doesn’t see anything, an extremely worrying prospect. 

The hunter slows, switching his flashlight to his left and yanking his gun from the holster at the small of his back. Keeping his gun pointed towards the ground, he swings his light around the intersection, uncaring that he’s wandering around in the middle of the road. The quiet street appears undisturbed, but Dean’s not fooled. There’s a tang of something in the air, a strange musty smell in the air, like old undisturbed rooms or abandoned places. It makes his skin crawl. 

His boots squelch suddenly and Dean jerks the light down to look at his shoes. A slimy black residue glistens underfoot.

“Ugh, gross, what the fuck?”

He backs up, scuffing his boots as he goes trying to scrub whatever it is off. Somewhat satisfied, he carefully crouches down to examine it more closely. The substance is completely opaque, almost appears dense and reflects the light he shines on it completely. He looks around again carefully, but nothing appears to be out of place other than this weird stuff on the pavement. A car turns onto the road a block or two up from him. Dean scrambles out of the road, cringing as the bright headlights hit him. 

The car trundles slowly past a few seconds later, and Dean exhales in relief. He walks as calmly as he can on the sidewalk, heading further away from the church several streets back where this whole mess had started.

He pulls out his phone and calls one of the numbers on his favorites list.

“Dean Winchester, I swear to god if you are calling me from lock up.”

“I’m not, but Sam and I got separated. Can you get into the dispatch system to check and see if he got picked up? Last I saw he had an officer hot on his trail.”

Charlie lets out a sound of annoyance, but he hears the familiar sound of keys clacking at an impressive speed in the background. 

“What ID did he have on him?”

“The Walsh one I think,” Dean answers. He looks around with his flashlight as he tries to figure out where to head next. They’d left the Impala outside of the old city boundaries and had walked to the church earlier that evening. He’ll have to walk a few blocks up to make sure he was well away from where the police had converged on them. He considers going around on the east or the west side, and so he glances each way but sees only darkness in either direction. A shiver wracks his frame out of nowhere, making Dean wish he had an extra hand so he could pull his gun.

“Jian gui,” Charlie curses viciously, making Dean freeze.

“What?”

“He got picked up.”

“Fuck!”

“He’s being transported to the local station near you. Dean, I don’t have time to hack NCIC to keep his fingerprints from being run.”

“Can you tell if they even have that capability? The power’s out here. They might be down too.”

“Hang on, lemme check...yes! You’re right, power’s out for half the downtown area including the station. They won’t be able to transmit the fingerprint scans.”

“Can you keep the power offline? It’ll be easier to break him out if the station is only on emergency power.”

“Dean, you realize you’re asking me to purposely sabotage infrastructure?”

“Yep, you’re welcome.”

Charlie laughs, “and they say Christmas only comes once a year. Consider it done.”

“Okay I gotta call Jody and see what help I can get from her before storming the castle.”

“Are you implying that your brother is a Disney princess?”

“What? Me? Never.” 

“Yea right. Any sign of the creature?”

Dean sobers up, glancing over his shoulder a moment, trying to quell the sudden resurgence of adrenaline.

“No, but I think something manifested back there.”

“You find something?”

“Yea, some kind of gunk on the ground where the portal or whatever was supposed to show up. I don’t know for sure though, the lore says it can only manifest if it’s seen by a human - it can’t take shape otherwise.”

“Shit - Dean I gotta go, I need to cause some mayhem in the power grid.”

“Yea I’ll text you when I’ve got Sam. Thanks Charlie.”

“Stay safe, Dean.”

Charlie hangs up. Before Dean can put his phone away it buzzes with a text from her with the address for the local police station. He taps it and waits for it to load on his map app. 

It drops a pin only about two miles away. Dean looks around uneasily at his dark surroundings. When nothing stirs in the shadows, he turns his feet towards the station and starts walking.


	2. Monsters

Castiel stares at the screen capture on the computer monitor. His own face and form looks up at him with a sinister grin - the teeth the only way to truly distinguish between the monster and the man. 

He doesn’t know what to do now. How on Earth does one put out a BOLO for oneself? Was this...entity even something that conventional means could destroy? Could shadows bleed? If it looks like a human does it have the same weaknesses?

The detective gets up from the desk chair and paces back and forth in front of the computer. He runs his hands restlessly through his hair, tugging on the strands hoping for some kind of inspiration, but nothing comes. Castiel has no idea what to do.

Viscerally, he suddenly has so much sympathy for the witnesses of crimes. As a detective, he’s interviewed so many people who were shaken to their cores by what they had seen. Getting coherent statements from them could take hours, even days. It was easy as an investigator to get frustrated by the delays and privately wonder how someone could be so incapable of putting their experiences into words.

Castiel has no words, and what’s worse, he doesn’t think there’s an emergency number he can call in order to get help with...with…

“Monsters.” Castiel says to himself out loud. He pauses and looks back at the screen, meeting the monster’s frozen visage. 

“I don’t know what you are called specifically,” he continues firmly, unwilling to deny what he’s looking at. “But you are some kind of monster.”

“Ahhh, I suppose ‘monster’ will do.”

Castiel chokes on his own breath and whirls around. Pulling his gun from his waist isn’t a choice - it’s as if he somehow summoned it from his holster; because it is in his hand, safety off, by the time he finishes facing the back of the room. 

It stands just a few feet away, in the other row of computer terminals, the low cubicle wall between them. A scream lodges itself in Castiel’s throat, his heart racing that he can scarcely hear past the roar of blood in his ears. Everything has jumped in him, his legs shake as though he’s already running.

“Wh-What?”

“I said,” the thing purrs, its voice completely different from Castiel’s own, a strange accent bending the syllables in a way that is utterly unfamiliar. “That the name ‘monster’ will do for now.”

“How did you g-get here?” Castiel asks, trying to keep his voice even. It doesn’t work at all, but he takes comfort in the fact that while everything else shakes, his gun remains perfectly steady.

“I walked of course,” it remarks airily, shifting on its feet, unconcerned. The way it moves reminds Castiel of fish in water, it slips to the side as though the muscles underneath its stolen skin aren’t articulated in the same way.

“W-Why are you here?”

“Looking for you of course.”

Castiel shudders from head to toe. His arm lists just a bit; but Cas gets a hold of himself and brings the barrel back to center on the thing.

“Why me?”

“I cannot be here unless I am seen.”

“But I only saw you once.”

“Once, is all it takes,” it shifts towards the end of the row, grinning as it slides gracefully. Its sharp teeth gleam from the green light of the monitors behind Castiel.

“What _are you_?” Castiel asks, his voice climbing up into the edge of hysteria.

“ _Empty_ ,” It growls back. “And I’ll have my fill of you.”

It tenses, and coils like a spring and before Castiel can place his finger on the trigger of his gun, someone darts in through the open doorway behind it.

Castiel has just enough time to get the impression of broad shoulders silhouetted by the blue emergency lights in the hallway. The thing turns to face the new threat, and Castiel shifts sharply to the right to ensure that whoever came through the door isn’t caught in his line of fire.

“ _Holy shit!”_ comes a voice Castiel doesn’t recognize, and he catches a glimpse of a gun being brought up.

The sound of the gunshot is startling. The muzzle flash briefly lights up the back of the room and Castiel drops to the floor as a matter of reflex. There’s an unholy screech of sound and the detective looks up from his crouch just in time to see the thing explode into black shadows. The shadows seem to hang in the air somehow, half-solid, half-liquid, before slithering down to the floor. 

Castiel scrambles back as it shifts towards him. He tries to lift his gun to get a bead on it but he can’t manage it and keep himself out of its reach at the same time. He blindly throws himself up and back, his thighs hitting the edge of the desk. He shifts his weight off his feet, still pointing his gun at it. 

Another gunshot sounds, its flash much closer than before. Castiel flinches, but he can tell that whatever the other guy is packing is working. The thing screams again and this time sinks into the floor and completely out of sight.

The detective looks up into the face of his back-up and is startled to find that they’re not another officer or detective. A stranger dressed in civilian clothes stands there, his decidedly _not_ department issued handgun still trained on the floor.

“Who are you?” Castiel asks, breathless. His ears are ringing.

“Not important right now, we gotta go, dude. It’ll be back.”

“It will?” 

“Yea, blessed rounds ain’t enough to put the fucker down, just scare it off.”

“Blessed rounds?” Castiel parrots, he feels strange, a sort of detached sensation settling on his shoulders.

The stranger looks at him, his features and eyes all cast in shades of green. He looks otherworldly, but in the way that Castiel thinks angels would be - terrifying and unflappable.

Ah, Castiel thinks distantly to himself, so this is what shock feels like.

The doorway at the back of the room darkens _again_. The stranger pivots smoothly on one foot and brings his gun instantly up to aim. Cas is but a split second behind him, his training taking over. He shifts minutely against the desk to the stranger’s left, both of them on defense against the new threat.

It’s his Lieutenant. She’s out of breath and in civilian clothing, but she’s also armed and obviously ready to help with whatever threat that needs facing. 

The stranger relaxes, “Jody,” he says with relief. “Where’s Sam?”

Lt. Mills lowers her own gun and quickly holsters it. 

“Hopefully uncuffing himself from the table in Interview Three. Dean, you have to go -”

Castiel suddenly realizes that his ears are not ringing, it’s his radio. The device is letting out a periodic droning tone; the channel is in emergency status again. The strange little bubble his head was in pops, and everything is once again up close and in screaming color.

“Central heard the shots,” Castiel deduces, “and they called it in.”

Lt. Mills is looking at him, a strange sympathy in her eyes.

“It’s just Uriel and the front desk sergeant right now and they’re covering the parking lot exit and the front entrance,” Lt. Mills explains quickly, gesturing sharply for them to get moving.

Castiel obeys without a thought, tucking his gun away. He notices that the stranger, Dean, is doing the same. They both move in tandem towards the door.

“Every available unit is on their way however, so you both have got to go,” she continues. Castiel pauses to scoop up his chattering radio, officers are sounding off, sirens in the background. He also grabs his trenchcoat from the back of his chair.

“Out the delivery entrance?” Castiel asks to confirm. He knows it’s the only other point of egress for the station.

“Yes, Sam should meet you there. Castiel, can you get them away? Without getting caught?” Lt. Mills queries seriously.

Castiel doesn’t have any real idea of what the hell is going on, but he has one clue and that’s that whatever that thing is, it was hurt by the weapon that this Dean is wielding. For the first time in the past half hour, Castiel feels as though he has a somewhat steady place to stand.

“You trust them?” the detective asks of his superior. It’s a redundant question, but he wants to hear it said out loud. Just in case. The stranger looks back and forth between them, a bemused look on his face.

“Yes,” Lt. Mills, Jody, says firmly. “I trust them with my life.”

“Then yes, I will help them.”

“Gee willikers, thanks ever so,” the stranger quips with a level of sarcasm that Castiel can’t help but admire a little bit, given the present situation. 

Jody rolls her eyes at him.

“Go.” She orders them both. “Dean, I won’t be able to help you with anything else - I’ll be tied up here.”

“Sammy and me’ll figure it out, Jody, don’t worry,” Dean replies as he steps past her and into the hallway. “And I’ll even keep your boy here safe.”

Castiel passes her as well, they share a silent glance in which he reads a surprising amount of humor on her face.

“I have a feeling you two will be looking after each other. Castiel is the best detective we have, Dean.”

Dean looks like he wants to offer some kind of snark in reply but Castiel’s radio, still clutched in his hand, sounds off another burst of sound.

“Dispatch to all units, commanders have been paged, 2133.”

Jody instantly sobers, “Go, now. Both of you.”

Castiel takes the lead, shoves his radio into his pocket and tugs the coat on while speeding down the hall at a jog. The emergency lights offer just enough illumination. He doesn’t have to check over his shoulder for the stranger, he can hear the sound of his boots against the cheap linoleum.

He focuses on the task at hand, and puts his burning questions on hold. 

For now.

← →

Dean paces one step behind the dude in the trench, somewhat reluctantly impressed with how he’s handled himself thus far. Getting your first dose of the supernatural ain’t an easy reality to face, and Dean knows that it’s something that can go real bad real fast. 

But the nerdy looking dude, Castiel, has stayed focused for the most part. He even shook off the initial shock enough to draw on Jody and coordinate with her in just a handful of sentences. 

“You’re handling this pretty well,” Dean puffs as they hit a stairwell.

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” the dude replies, his voice a quiet growl that echoes off the cinder block walls as they descend. “Who’s Sam?”

“My pain in the ass little brother,” Dean replies easily.

“Is he very tall?”

“Uh...yes?”

Castiel says nothing else, but when he reaches the doorway at the bottom of the stairs he holds up a hand to stop Dean. Carefully, he peers into the hallway, checking both directions carefully before gesturing at Dean to follow once more. Castiel cuts to the right and slows down just enough that his footfalls are silent. Dean takes the silent cue and creeps along as best he can right behind him.

Wordlessly, the two reach the end of the hall, and Castiel casts a fast glance out the small security window. Gently, he pushes against the bar on the door, easing it open just enough for him to slip through. Then, the man stops abruptly. 

Dean nearly runs into his back, halting just in time so that he has enough room to reach for his gun. Before he can pull it however, Castiel slowly pushes the door open and he is greeted by the sight of his brother pointing a gun at them both in the weak light.

“Dean?” Sam asks, instantly dropping the barrel as soon as their eyes meet.

“Sam, we’re good.”

“I beg to differ,” Castiel butts in. “Back up is probably already pulling up out front, we have to go.”

“Lead the way, detective,” Dean sasses, and Castiel looks over his shoulder at him with exasperation.

“Which way?” Sam asks seriously while putting his gun away.

Castiel points to the left where the alley ends in a dead end.

“Up and over I’m afraid. The alley empties into the street which is visible from the parking lot. But, if we can get over that wall, we’ll be in the courtyard behind the historical society’s office and they never lock the gate at night.”

The brothers nod at each other.

“Up and over it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter is by the fabulous @castielsgal! (castielsgal.tumblr.com) Feel free to go have a look at her Tumblr and stare in awe at her artwork. Goodness knows I do!


	3. Gardens

They make it over the wall. Castiel leads them silently through the garden, slipping from shadow to shadow carefully even though the courtyard isn’t visible from the street. To their credit, the pair of brothers follow him soundlessly, their motions practiced and efficient. 

The gate is unlocked as expected, but the metal creaks alarmingly loud. Quickly, Castiel darts through, trusting them to keep up. He jogs lightly down the path that runs alongside the historical society building. It ends at the front of the building, dumping them into the street that runs adjacent to the station. The air is still filled with the sound of sirens. Although the buildings and street lights are all still dark from the power outage, Castiel knows from experience that this won’t keep curious citizens from grabbing flashlights to come out and see what all the hubbub is about. 

He gestures with his hand to the right while he watches the intersection to the left. Sam and Dean cut by him, heading up the street and away from the station. Castiel hurries along behind them, grateful yet again that the half moon is giving them just enough light to keep from tripping over their own feet. 

They jog in a line for a couple of blocks, Sam leading. Castiel lets them put some distance before taking the lead again. He turns left, going across the street and taking a small alley almost invisible in the shadows. The alley is another uneven garden path with skinny trees growing on either side but it’s quiet, well out of the way so Castiel finally slows down and lets himself relax a bit.

At the end of the alley path there’s another iron gate waiting. This one swings open silently, and Castiel stands aside to let the brothers pass him. He shifts it shut again, just in case.

The public garden is small, taking up an awkward space that rests between several old buildings. Neat hedges and trees line the walls, and walkways with four benches face the center open green. It also has three other exits, all in different directions, making it a good place to rest while they decide what to do next.

Castiel turns and in the dim light. He can just make out Dean and Sam having what appears to be a silent conversation. The detective pulls out a flashlight from his pocket and turns it on, keeping the beam pointed at the grass underfoot. The ambient light helps him make out more of their faces.

“The church is about a mile and a half northeast of here. We’re maybe two blocks south of the Willow and Harrow intersection,” Castiel offers, breaking the quiet.

“Church?” Dean asks, surprised.

“I’m assuming Sam is the shooting suspect that we arrested earlier tonight? 6’4”, jeans, green shirt? Took out a transformer and thus the power?” Castiel replies.

Sam looks sheepish. “Yea...that wasn’t exactly how the plan was supposed to go.”

“Shit, the power!” Dean curses, he yanks his phone out of his pocket and taps on it for a couple of seconds. He casts a somewhat suspicious glance at Castiel before turning to speak to his brother.

“I got  _ her highness _ to help keep the power off so I could get you out.”

“Smart move,” Sam looks over at Castiel, “With the power off, all the cameras in the station were down too. There’s not going to be any record of you escaping with us.”

“That’s important?”

“Well, I mean...you do want to be able to go back to your life as a cop, don’t you?” Sam persists, a note of something in his voice that Castiel can’t quite place - regret perhaps?

“I...honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead. I’m still stuck on the thing wearing my face that wants to eat me.”

“Wait, eat you?” Sam turns and gives the detective all of his attention. His face becomes much more animated, almost excited. “Why do you say it wants to eat you?”

“Because it told me so, well, actually it said ‘I’ll have my fill of you’, but I mean that feels like a pretty clear declaration of intent.”

“It  _ talked _ to you?” 

Yes, that is definitely excitement, or the thrill of discovery coloring Sam’s countenance now. 

“Oh my god, stop, Sam. We can’t right now - we’re still vulnerable. It can travel anywhere in the city, remember?”

Castiel refocuses on the present threat. “It’s coming back, then?”

Dean looks over at him and nods. “Like I said back at the station, blessed bullets won’t kill it, just hurt it a bit. Enough to drive it off so it can reform.”

“It said it has to be seen in order to be here. That it only needed one glance.”

Sam seems to be practically vibrating now, like an eager student aching to start asking questions and taking notes. A feeling he understands, Castiel concedes, because he’s not very far from that himself. He has  _ so many questions. _

“We have to regroup,” Dean remarks.

“The Impala?” Sam asks.

Dean shakes his head, “Too far away, I’m worried about it finding us before then.”

“It moves quickly, but about half an hour passed between it appearing and finding me at the station. That’s how long it would have taken me to walk the distance. Which is what it told me it did.”

“It  _ walked _ ?” Both Dean and Sam say in unison, disbelief completely coloring their tones. They look at each other in equal consternation and start speaking in rapid fire sentences. Just like partners do when they’ve worked together for years, seamlessly reading each other’s thoughts and finishing each other’s sentences.

“But that goes completely against - “

“I know, Missouri told us that it could apparate -”

“This isn’t Harry Potter, Dean stop calling it that -” 

“Oh bite me, I’m not calling it temporal phase shifting or whatever you -”

“If it’s fully manifested here maybe it’s tied to this time and place and can’t move around using its dimension.”

“It exploded back into its shadow form when I shot it, the blessed bullets worked exactly like Missouri said they would. But it just sort of faded out of sight, right Cas? It kinda bled into the floor? You were closer.”

“That’s probably the best way to describe it, yes,” Castiel agrees with Dean, “It sank into the floor the way water does into the dirt. Which follows I suppose - when I first saw it on Willow St. it looked like water rippling. But instead of clear water, it looks like opaque shadows that behave like a liquid.”

“So the bullets disrupted it enough that it lost grip on its form.”

“My form,” Castiel points out, “It looks exactly like me, although it doesn’t mimic my voice and its teeth are all -” here Castiel gestures helplessly finally reaching the end of his ability to describe what he saw.

“I saw them too,” Dean picks up the thread easily, “They were all points, like a vampire’s, but all black instead of pearly whites.”

“Vampires are  _ real _ ?”

And just like that, Castiel is back wobbling on metaphorically unsteady ground. He feels like he’s teetering on the precipice of a deep cavernous space, somewhere that doesn’t have a bottom and he doesn’t know how to control his fall.

There’s a hand on his arm, gripping him tightly as if steadying his physical body will keep him from toppling back down into that horrible space where everything felt unreal and far away. Surprisingly it works. Castiel reorients himself in the present, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes.

They’re green, Castiel realizes with a small start of surprise. He’d thought that had just been an effect of the computer monitors glow back at the station. But no, Dean’s eyes are indeed a crisp and clear green.

“Easy, Cas,” Dean says, his voice calm. “There’s a lot out there that’s real, but there’s also a lot out there that ain’t, okay? And I promise, if you want, we’ll give you the full monster primer.”

“If I want?” Castiel repeats, noticing that he’s once again parroting Dean’s sentences. Dean seems to realize this too, because he takes a step closer, moving his hand up from Castiel’s arm to his shoulder.

“Yea, man, if you want. Not everyone makes the jump from normal life to normal life plus the supernatural. We ain’t gonna force it on you.”

“You mean people just...deny what they’ve seen?”

“Does that surprise you?” Sam asks quietly. “You’re a detective, you have to have come across witnesses or victims before that just refuse to talk about it, or won’t admit that it even happened.”

“Well, yes, I have. But this...this feels too big for that.”

“In our experience,” Sam replies, “The bigger it is, the  _ more _ people deny it, not less.”

“Oh.” Castiel supposes that makes sense, in a strange, sad way. “I don’t want to do that. I can’t fight it if I pretend it doesn’t exist.” 

Dean claps him on the shoulder, squeezing briefly before withdrawing and giving him a firm nod. 

“Good,” he says simply. “We still need to find a safe spot.”

“How about one of the other two churches?” Sam asks, pulling his phone out. Castiel can see he’s opening a map app. Dean seems to consider it for a moment, looking off into the distance as though calculating something. 

“That works, we’ll have to break in though.”

“Text Charlie again, ask her to keep the power off for just a bit longer.”

Dean pulls out his phone to do that, while Sam taps on his phone. Castiel leans over to have a look at the screen wondering if he could help since it was his city. Sam tilts the phone closer so Castiel can see better.

“Should we go to St. Christopher or St. Hubert?” Sam asks.

“St. Hubert’s,” Cas says firmly before Dean can respond. The brothers look at him in question. “I know one of the priests there: Joshua. We wouldn’t have to break in, I can call him.”

This time they don’t check with each other, instead Dean puts his phone away, and Sam taps on St. Hubert to prompt the app to plot them a course, clearly familiarizing himself with the way. Castiel pulls out his own phone to bring up Joshua’s contact - briefly wondering about waking the poor man up in the middle of the night.

Castiel hasn’t even fully brought the phone up to his ear however, before Joshua is answering the call.

“Castiel? What’s wrong?”

“Joshua -” Castiel stutters, caught by surprise, “Uh, I’m sorry for waking you.”

“I was awake, what’s wrong?”

Castiel gives an incredulous look to both Dean and Sam. Wordlessly they step closer, and Castiel turns the call over to speaker and holds it out between the three of them.

“I- I need your help. I’m being chased by something...I’m not sure you’re going to believe me but - I need a safe place to stay for a few hours. Me and a couple of...um friends?” Castiel trails off here, completely unsure of how to describe the two men he’s on the run with. 

“Chased? What do you mean chased by  _ something? _ ”

“Joshua - I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ll believe me.” Castiel looks at Dean and Sam desperately. Surely they know how to deal with this. Sam looks sympathetic, genuinely kind and understanding, but wordlessly shrugs. Dean rests a hand on Castiel’s forearm, holding him steady.

“Can you offer us a spot or what, man? We can explain what’s going on in person but we need to know  _ now _ if we can head your way or if we need to find somewhere else,” Dean says firmly.

“Winchester?” Joshua asks, his voice colored with incredulousness. Castiel watches both men physically start in surprise. 

“....Yea?” Dean answers after a long pause. He looks over at Castiel, questions written all over his face. Castiel has no answers for him and just stares helplessly back. 

“Castiel...the - the something that is chasing you...does it, does it look like you?”

Silence falls over them all, the screen of his phone goes dark. Joshua waits silently for them to answer and quiet draws long between them all. 

“Yes,” Castiel finally croaks out. Lt. Mills? And now Joshua too? Who else in his life is a part of this strange world where monsters live and apparently even vampires are real?

“You need to come to St. Huberts. Castiel if it has gotten free somehow -”

“Who the fuck are you?” Dean bursts in, suspicious and angry. He’s tightened his hold on Castiel’s arm. 

“My name is Joshua, I am a friend of Missouri’s. The community here is very close, we all knew she was reaching out to you. We asked that she get in touch with hunters who could handle... Well, you’ve seen the omens. We were extremely concerned. Michael and I have been combing the records for  _ weeks. _ ”

“Michael? You mean the priest at St. Michael’s?” Sam breaks in this time, his voice equally as angry as his brother’s. 

“Yes, that Michael. He and I, and another priest, Balthazar, are responsible for protecting the seals on the entity’s cage. Have you met with Michael already?”

“Dude - what the hell?” Dean demands, “Michael isn’t protecting the cage -  _ he’s the one who broke it open _ .”

“W-What?” Joshua breaths across the call, clearly stunned. 

“Yea,” Dean affirms, disgusted. “Your buddy was at his fucking church tonight, working a spell to open the damn cage up and let this thing out.”

“That’s not - I don’t understand. Michael has been helping me research,” Joshua pleads. Castiel feels sympathy for his friend. It sounds like he’s having his world view thoroughly shattered as well. 

“How has he been helping you research?” Sam asks. 

“He’s been doing transcriptions! He - he came to help me go through all the old records that St. Hubert’s has. He - He requisitioned original building plans for the churches from the City Archives...”

“He gathered up all the sources of information he could,” Sam corrects gently, “He gathered them up and he used them to unlock the cage tonight.”

Joshua takes in an audibly shaky breath. They all wait for him to have a moment to collect himself. 

“You saw him do this?” he asks.

“He was in his church, parked over some weird, glowing scribbles on the stone near the main altar. Had a bowl of ingredients, crazy eyes, and a cold smile. I’m not really sure what he managed before we broke in, but he was mid-casting, dude. And he finished enough that the thing got free and tried to kill your buddy Castiel here,” Dean explains simply, not holding anything back.

“Dean saved me, Joshua. The thing, it broke into the police station while I was working and tried to, well...I’m not completely sure what it had planned for me but I believe it wanted to eat me.” Castiel adds.

“God help us,” Joshua whispers. There’s another long pause, but Joshua seems to rally, because his next words are said firmly, “Come to Hubert’s, all of you. The cage may have been broken open but the protections on my church are still intact. Michael wouldn’t have been able to damage those from his church. I will call Missouri and Balthazar, ask them to come as well.”

And then Joshua hangs up. Castiel mechanically turns the phone off and puts it back in his pocket. He looks at the two of them, but they’re both looking back at him, also nonplussed.

“You know, I don’t believe we ever actually properly introduced ourselves,” Castiel points out.

Dean huffs a laugh, relaxing and shoving his hands into the pockets of his canvas jacket. He’s dressed in sturdy clothes over all, Castiel realizes. Jeans, boots, cotton t-shirt layered under an open flannel shirt. The detective knows that he’s got a nickel plated Colt holstered at the small of his back and probably several other weapons on his person as well. Sam is also wearing the same kind of clothing, though he has hiking boots rather than work boots and seems to prefer his gun at his right side. His greater height makes it easier to hide on his frame. 

“Winchester,” Sam says with a small smile. “We’re Sam and Dean Winchester.”

“Detective Castiel Novak,” Castiel returns.

“Pleasure to meet ya, Cas,” Dean teases.

There’s a sudden buzz in the air, all three tense in anticipation, but it’s just the power flickering back on. A few of the windows in the buildings around them turn golden as the lights inside come on. The one lone street light in the corner of the garden comes to life, filling the space with it’s orange glow. Castiel turns his flashlight off.

“Well that’s a comfort at least,” Castiel remarks. 

“It won’t protect us, sadly,” Sam explains, “The thing isn’t afraid of light.”

“True, but now we’re less likely to trip over a sidewalk.”

“Be quiet, both of you.” Dean orders. Unlike Cas and Sam, Dean hasn’t relaxed at all, and instead is now looking at a corner of the garden where most of the trees are clustered. The light has ruined their night vision completely, so the shadows there now appear darker than before. 

Or at least, that’s what Castiel assumed was happening.

Dean draws his gun, “Cas, you know the way?”

“Yes.”

Blue eyes blink out of the shadows, and a rip gleams wide in a vicious smile. 

But this time, Castiel doesn’t feel the sharp edge of hysteria shiver down his spine. Instead, he feels the overwhelming rush of adrenaline hit his system. He shifts his feet in the grass to find a good purchase and gets ready for whatever comes next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter! I've mentioned this before, but just as a reminder, this story is COMPLETE. I'm posting the chapters as I finish editing them. So please rest assured that the next chapter will be forthcoming VERY SOON. Thanks for reading! :D


	4. History

Dean is 100% done with this creepy-ass monster. It’s not enough that it sometimes moves like a disarticulated mannequin, and then suddenly moves like a shark hunting prey through still waters. Putting a blessed silver bullet through its center mass apparently doesn’t even keep it down for more than half an hour - but that isn’t it, either. No, Dean is 100% done with this freak because of that fucking  _ smile _ . That shard-filled, disturbed grin is what takes the cake. Dean wants to kill it, burn its remains and then salt the earth where the ashes fall. 

The hunter fires two quick shots to the middle of the sliding shadows attempting to form into something vaguely human shaped. Sam follows that up with a third bullet right between the uneven eyes. It screeches, this time sounding more angry than hurt. Just like at the station it seems to lose cohesion, slipping towards the ground as if the foundation it was working on has crumbled. 

It puddles on the ground in the shadows of the trees. It slides around, more liquid now, and so opaque that Dean swears he sees the light from the streetlight reflect off of it. The shadows were like water, instead of this darkness given autonomy. 

“Run!” Dean orders his brother and Cas. Sammy obeys; he can undoubtedly tell from Dean’s tone alone that this is not up for debate. Cas thankfully does as well, turning sharply on one foot and darting after Sam. Dean puts one more bullet in the middle of the puddle for good measure, then bolts after them. 

It roars, clearly pissed off. Dean doesn’t look back to see what it’s doing. He just concentrates on keeping up with his brother’s long stride and Cas’ extremely respectable sprint. 

The detective takes the lead in short order once they’re back out onto the street. He wisely doesn’t slow too much, but instead finds a good rhythm and sticks with it. The extreme speed is probably unnecessary. Dean casts a fast glance over his shoulder and doesn’t see anything solid pursuing them, but all the same, it’s best if they put as much distance between them and the monster.

Dean’s hesitant to make assumptions about a monster without any real proof, but from what he’s seen thus far, it looks like it takes time for the thing to rebuild after coming into contact with a blessed bullet. The only part that seriously concerns him is that it might be getting used to them. 

It’s a deeply unsettling thought.

Cas leads them with confidence, never stopping or slowing to consider his course. They jog over to the east for a few more blocks, pulling further away from the police station. The shots they were forced to make are probably being called into dispatch at this point, the precinct probably stirred up like a kicked over hornets’ nest. The detective takes the next right, guiding them south now, but taking them off the sidewalk and down another alley way. The cobblestones give Dean a moment’s grief, he almost turns his ankle while cursing creatively. He finds his pace again though, quickly adapting to the uneven terrain. The alleyway crosses over another before dumping them onto another street. 

The path they take is full of detours like this, back cut throughs and weird little pathways across green gardens and through at least two graveyards. The sprint is starting to wear on him however, his breathing falling from tightly controlled to ragged gasps somewhere after the second mile. Sam of course hasn’t even broken a sweat - it’s almost enough to make Dean consider joining his brother on his daily runs at the ass crack of dawn -  _ almost _ .

Thankfully, the detective pulls up short and comes to a stop just before the end of their current footpath between two buildings that appear to be old stables, converted into businesses. He’s a little breathless, and he gestures sharply for them to go back the way they came. Dean scrambles to do so, pulling back and ducking down behind a dumpster. Sam follows easily, and Cas piles in as well, holding still in the shadows. He casts a tense look around, but Dean doesn’t see any hint of their pursuer, all the various patches of darkness seem utterly mundane.

A patrol car rolls by, surprising the hunter. He figured most of them would be at the station or checking out the shots fired call from their most recent shoot out.

“It’s the beat sergeant,” Cas explains quietly. “He wouldn’t answer the other calls; he has to stay in his area in case something else happens.”

“Makes sense,” Sam replies, “Let’s hope we don’t have to give him anything to respond to.”

“St. Hubert’s is just a few more blocks from here,” Cas assures them. “If Joshua is right, and the thing can’t get into the church, we should be able to regroup safely.”

“Hopefully we can get some freaking answers out of Joshua,” Dean says, leaning against the brick wall of the building with a deep sigh. The momentary respite is giving him a chance to catch his breath and he’s gonna damn well take it.

Cas considers them both, his head tilted to one side like a bird’s.

“Do you have any more of those blessed bullets?” he asks, surprising Dean a little with his sudden change of topics.

“Yea, why, you want some?”

“Seems wise, I don’t mean to point out the obvious but it does seem to be rather fixated on me.”

“That’s fair,” Sam agrees and reaches into the pocket of his jacket to pull out the spare clip for his Taurus. “You carrying a .45?”

Cas pulls out his own gun and fluidly drops the clip from the magazine, clears the chamber and easily catches the round that flies out. Dean shivers, just a little. Competency always has been a huge weakness for him. The hunter gives himself a sharp mental shake and uses the free moment to check on his own weapon. 

“Yes, .45 is standard issue for my police department.” Cas answers. Sam thumbs rounds out of his clip into his palm, while Cas does the same with his. The two trade handfuls of bullets once finished. Dean loads a few more rounds into his own clip from his spare, replacing the ones he’s used.

“You mentioned that these are blessed?” Cas asks as all three of them work quietly. 

“Yea, they’re solid silver too,” Dean explains. “Hand loaded too, less powder so it doesn’t explode in the barrel. So they don’t pack as much of a punch as what you’re used to - won’t go as far.”

“Silver matters?”

“Silver is a weakness for a lot of supernatural entities,” Sam says, his voice taking on what Dean privately refers to as his brother’s ‘professor tone’. “We weren’t sure that whatever this thing is would be weak to silver, but we figured it wouldn’t hurt. The blessings come from a pastor friend of ours, Missouri told us to use them, said it would help.”

“And you are...hunters? Joshua called you hunters.”

Sam and Dean share a fast glance. This isn’t the best place for this conversation but well, in their shared experience there really isn’t a good place for it either.

“Hunters is the term we use, yea,” Sam starts. “It’s because what we do is, in the traditional sense - hunting.”

“And you hunt monsters?”

“Yep, if it goes bump in the night and has a habit of going after humans we try to find it and put it down.” Dean answers. He finishes reloading his weapon and carefully holsters it. Sam does the same with his Taurus, having filled his spare clip with Cas’ regular rounds. They’re going to need to go back to Baby at some point and get more bullets. 

“How many of you are there?” Cas queries. He’s finished reloading his gun too, and puts it away in his side holster before shifting his coat back over it.

“In the US?” Sam looks up for a moment while he considers it. “I don’t know. It’s...well to be honest, it’s a dangerous life, Cas. For every hunter that joins the fight, we hear about another dying on the job. But for right now I’d guess there’s maybe a few hundred of us?”

Sam looks over at Dean for confirmation, but he can only shrug. A few hundred honestly seems a bit high, unless Dean includes some of the hunters running around in Canada. However, since the border is unguarded in so many areas, hunters from the great white north do travel south at times to pick up jobs in the northwest and great lakes area, and vice versa.

“That seems about right,” Dean agrees finally. 

“Do you all...coordinate? I mean, is there an equivalent of dispatch for you?”

Sam shakes his head, “No, not really. We’re all pretty independent. There’s like...I guess you could call them hubs, but that’s mostly to just swap intel or put in for an extra pair of hands if you’re overwhelmed.”

Cas seems to take this in, his mouth turning down into a frown, but then he shakes himself and rises from his crouch. Sam and Dean follow, climbing to their feet as well. 

“I have more questions, but they will keep,” he says. Dean watches as the man seems to settle his game face on once more, Cas disappearing somewhat behind his detective mask. This isn’t the first time Dean has had to read in a police officer, but Dean thinks this might be the best any law enforcement agent has ever taken the introduction. Almost no questions about what exactly is out there, but rather a focus on how it’s handled. Dean smirks to himself, that’s a very... _ hunter _ approach to take.

Cas walks to the end of the footpath and checks both directions quickly. He gestures to them both that it’s clear and the Winchester brothers follow silently behind him.

← → 

Castiel leads the group down one last alleyway before peering up the street towards Joshua’s church. St. Hubert’s is one of the oldest churches in the city, built in the early 1700s. The walls of the church are still made of the original sandstone blocks, though the stucco has been replaced several times in the intervening years. The steeple reaches up, towering over the surrounding buildings, casting an impressive silhouette against the sky. The front of the church is occupied by tall entryway doors and there’s no way for Josuha to open those by himself, so Castiel contemplates which of the other doors to use. The one at the back of the church is the one closest to Joshua’s office.

Settled on his choice, he turns back to the Winchesters. “Best way in at this point will be the back entrance, it’s in the graveyard.”

“How’re we getting around the fence?” Sam asks, gesturing to the imposing wrought iron fence that circles the church and its yard. Even in the dark, they can all make out the lethally sharp points of the fence bars. There’s no way to climb over that without risking tetanus. 

“Knowing Joshua he’s probably left one of the gates open.” Castiel heads across the empty street and turns right, following the fence along the sidewalk, and then past the building next door. Between that building and the next is another narrow alleyway passage, paved with old cobblestones. 

“How do you know Joshua?” Sam asks as they head down the alley. Castiel can hear Dean curse creatively under his breath again about the cobblestones, and smiles to himself. 

“Joshua is an apiarist,” Castiel explains, “I met him at the local farmers market selling honey and soaps and other things. He’s been helping me research the possibility of getting my own hives.”

They round the end of the building, turning right onto another footpath. This one has been somewhat tended to, with large flat stones lining the path and low shrubs planted off to either side. It’s dark, Castiel turns on his flashlight and shines it down towards the church. Sure enough, there’s the side gate to the graveyard, and it’s been propped open with a small brick. Castiel heads down, another light turns on behind him and he glances over his shoulder to see Dean with a small flashlight pointed to the ground to watch his footing. 

“You’re interested in bees?” Sam queries, his voice polite. 

“Yes. I think they’re fascinating creatures,” Castiel says a little absently, as he pushes open the gate and it swings obligingly open on silent hinges. They pass through the graveyard, sticking to the paths. Dean, without being asked, shuts the gate behind them and makes sure it latches. 

The old headstones sit in close rows, leaning lopsided to the side in many cases. Time has turned the engravings to mere shadows of what they once were, lichen and moss growing to cover up many of the old markers. Ancient oak trees, their twisting, low branches draped with Spanish moss, crowd along the fence line; flowering bushes grow in somewhat random places, and there are benches set off the footpaths making the entire space feel more like a garden than a boneyard. There’s an ease in the air that Castiel leans into, he’s not sure how, but it feels safe here.

The graveyard wraps around the church on three sides. Castiel heads for the doorway set into the back wall of the church. It’s accessible down a set of haphazard steps dug into the ground years ago, as the building settled over time. Dean stays at the top, flashlight out and swinging back and forth, keeping a weather eye on their surroundings. Sam perches halfway down the stairs, his attention focused more at ground level, also following Dean’s light with his eyes. Cas knocks on the door.

There’s a long pause, but it cracks open and through the small space Castiel sees a sliver of Joshua’s face peering out. 

“Castiel!” the older man sighs in relief and opens the door all the way, letting the warm light from the hallway spill out into the small area. Joshua leans forward and looks up to see the Winchesters stacked behind him.

“You all made it, good. I was beginning to get worried.”

“We got a bit delayed,” Castiel explains, stepping forward while Joshua backs up to let them all file in. 

“I’m Dean, this is my brother Sam.” Dean introduces the both of them with a jerk of his hand. “Did Missouri mention us?”

“She did. I was the one who asked her if she knew of any hunters nearby that could help with this issue.”

“She didn’t mention you to us,” Sam says quietly in that factual, non-threatening way of his. 

“That’s not surprising to me; she was originally going to introduce us later. We… well,” Joshua pauses. Castiel sees his friend sag a little in the shoulders, as though a great weight had suddenly shifted upon him. “We thought we would have more time,” the man finishes softly. 

“Yea, I get that,” Dean agrees. “Tonight has not gone according to plan, like,  _ at all _ .” He gestures emphatically at Castiel, who cannot argue with that statement.

“Do I get to ask my questions now?” Castiel asks of all of them, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Come inside,” Joshua replies, “I have a feeling there is much for us to discuss. We can use my office, Castiel.” He angles by them all after he shuts and locks the door. The narrow hallway ceiling is low; Sam barely has enough clearance to keep from stooping. He does have to duck his head a little as they enter Joshua’s office. 

Castiel has been in Joshua’s office many times, but the revelations of the past couple of hours make him look over the space with new eyes. 

“You’re a hunter,” Sam remarks, looking over the same eclectic collection of books and kitchy items. The taller man picks up what Castiel thought was just an antique blade of some kind, something Joshua kept because he’s always been interested in history. Sam turns the blade through his long fingers in an impressive flourish, demonstrating clear skill with that kind of knife.

“Retired,” Joshua confirms simply, gesturing them all to the small table piled high with books and papers. “I joined the church after I broke my leg hunting a wendigo in Wyoming. The break never healed right, but I didn’t want to stop helping, a priest seemed like a good job to transition to.”

“How’d you get started?” Dean asks, taking a seat at the table across from Joshua. Sam sat on his right and Castiel took the last seat on his left, taking off his trench coat and draping it over his chair.

“As most in this business got started,” Joshua says sadly, “I lost someone to forces that could not be explained. Went looking for an explanation and found out that it was all real - ghosts, demons, monsters.”

Castiel casts a questioning glance over at Dean, but he’s not looking at Castiel. He’s looking at Joshua with nothing but sympathy in his eyes. 

“After I knew the truth, well, I’m sure you all know, it is hard to go back to your normal life after that.”

At this the other three turn their attention to Castiel, who shifts uncomfortably in his chair at the attention. 

“I am...that is...well,” Castiel huffs, and runs a tired hand through his hair knowing that doing so probably makes it stand up in all directions. He does nothing to fix it. “I accept this,” he says finally, looking for a moment over at Sam and then Joshua. “I won’t deny what I’ve seen this evening, and well, as much as I wish I could go back to being blissfully unaware - this thing has taken on my form and seems to be following me for some reason.”

“It is following you because this is how  _ it _ hunts,” Joshua says. He reaches over and tugs a book from the stack of them in the middle of the table. He uses a bookmark stuck about a third of the way in to open the book, then places it flat on the table so they can all see. 

Castiel leans over, nudging the books out of his way so he can see more clearly. On one page is an old map of the city. Castiel recognizes the familiar roadways easily, even if the proportions are somewhat skewed, and the coastline vastly different. In the middle of the city, someone has drawn an equilateral triangle with each of its corners clearly marked. On the opposite page is a block of text with a small drawing at the very bottom. Castiel recognizes instantly the formless shape of shadow, with a pair of wide eyes and a slash of a mouth full of pointed teeth.

“That’s what it looks like when it’s forming,” Castiel says, pointing at the ink drawing. 

“I do not have a name for it,” Joshua begins somberly, “I’m not sure the hunters who originally designed this trap for it had anything to call it. In the text they just refer to it as ‘the entity’. According to them, it will take on the visage of the person who sees it first, and then it will hunt that person until it can catch them. The account gets a little vague, and the translation into English doesn’t help much, but they describe it as a ‘consuming’. That somehow the entity absorbs the target’s essential self, their soul, or life force and leaves them a husk.”

Castiel feels himself pale, and tucks his hands under the table so no one will see them shake.

“What happens next?” Sam asks.

“The cycle starts again. The entity will take the form of the next person who sees it, and then hunt them.”

“So this thing can only hunt one person at a time?” Dean queries.

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean it can’t hurt or kill people. It’s form is based on a human, it can just as easily pick up a stick and beat someone with it, or a gun and shoot someone.” Joshua points out. “It also has...abilities. The book describes some powers of telekinesis, maybe some extra senses? It’s also said that it can move from place to place at will -”

“Yea, Missouri warned us about that one,” Sam interjects, “But Cas says that it told him it walked to the station from Willow St.”

Joshua looks taken aback before turning quickly to Castiel, “It spoke to you?”

“That’s surprising to you?”

“Very,” Joshua confirms, “None of the texts mention it speaking. Just...laughing or screaming.”

“It spoke to me. It doesn’t use my voice when it speaks, though. It talks like...a non-native speaker would I guess.”

“A non-native speaker of English you mean?” Sam asks.

Castiel shrugs, “I mean like a non-native speaker of...human.”

“I didn’t hear it talk,” Dean says, “But I’m with Cas on this one, that thing may  _ look _ like a human but it was really easy to tell which was the monster, and I had about four seconds to make that call.”

“It said that it was ‘Empty’,” Castiel quotes, using his fingers, which strangely makes Dean grin at him. When he’s used air quotes in the past, his co-workers just roll their eyes.

“It named itself?” Joshua asks, leaning forward.

Cas tilts his head to the side, thinking back on the thing wearing his face, “I don’t think that’s its name, that’s just what it said it was when I asked. Empty.” He finishes with a shudder.

“Empty works just as well as ‘entity’,” Sam agrees. 

“How did all this begin? And who is Missouri you all keep talking about?” Cas asks.

“Missouri is a psychic that we work with sometimes,” Dean explains. “She’s the real deal; can genuinely pick up on stuff that normal people can’t. She called us up while we were on the road between jobs and told us to come here; that there was something bad about to kick off on the next full moon.”

“The closer we got, the weirder the omens were,” Sam picks up the story effortlessly, “There’s not many things that actually cause omens in the first place you see; demons are really the only ones. Well, them and a few minor gods and goddesses of course.”

“Yea but these were just strange,” Dean continues, “Y’all had that haze of smoke over the city two days ago -”

“They were doing a controlled burn in the national forest,” Castiel interrupts.

“Yea,” Dean draws the word out for a couple of extra seconds, “And who put that out to the media?”

“The park rangers?” Castiel replies.

Dean gives Castiel a little wave, “Hi, Ranger Bonham at your service.”

Castiel frowns, “You pretended to be a ranger?”

“Yup, have done and will probably do in the future.”

“Who else have you impersonated?”

“Shorter list is who we haven’t at this point.”

“ _ Anyways _ ,” Sam stresses from beside Dean, “The smoke, the birds, and the storms - look the omens are weird okay? So we knew that Missouri was right there was something really strange happening here and we knew that it was probably going to be something big.”

“You mentioned churches,” Castiel says, curious as he examines the book more closely. “Three of them, are they these three dots on the map?”

“Yea,” Sam answers, “Good eye. St. Michael’s,” he taps the dot on the upper right part of the map, then traces his finger down to the dot near the southern point of the peninsula, “St. Hubert’s,” Sam then drags his finger up to the upper left side and taps the last one, “St. Christopher’s.”

“And you mentioned a trap, or a cage?” Castiel turns to Joshua.

Joshua folds his hands on the table and sighs. “These churches were designed and built by hunters, Castiel. They were facing down this...thing, The Empty.” The priest seems to stare past them all, looking into the middle distance. His voice goes hushed as he begins to explain.

“According to the writings I have found in the church library, in the early 1700s, a ship floated into the harbor one day. It flew no colors, and answered no hails.”

Castiel can’t help the goosebumps that break out over his skin. His imagination easily summons up the image of an abandoned ship, its sails in tatters, drifting listlessly off the coast of his home city. A portent for terrible things.

“Usually in instances like this, dead ships were set alight. People knew that if there were no survivors aboard, that it was usually a sickness of some kind and that the ship needed to be destroyed. But according to one account, when a row boat got close someone claimed that they could see an arm, waving weakly just above the deck railing. He climbed up the side, and after a few minutes, he came back down. He said nothing, just shook his head when the others asked him about what he’d seen. And fearing the worst, they set the ship on fire and sank it.”

“The Empty,” Sam concludes quietly.

“The Empty took his place when he came aboard the ship, yes, that is what the hunters believed as well,” Joshua agrees. “The settlement here wasn’t big at this time, a couple of thousand people at most. The Empty began to consume people at a rate that wasn’t sustainable. More than one or two people a day according to the records I’ve found. 

“In normal history, this period is described as a smallpox outbreak. That’s a fabrication. The Empty burned through this city in a matter of weeks. It was absolute chaos, people thought it was the work of witches, demons, black magic, God and the Devil himself. A killer with a stolen face. Children would weep about their fathers, their mothers, their siblings killing the rest of the family. People swore to authorities that friends they knew for years, decades had attacked them, chased them, laughed at them.”

“What happened then? How was it stopped?” Castiel presses. There must be something in his voice that clues Dean into how unsettled he feels, because the man reaches out and puts a hand on Castiel’s arm under the table. Castiel is grateful for the contact, that unreal edge of hysteria hovering over all of his thoughts and threatening to sweep in at any time. He’s kept it back by focusing on the ways that things can be defeated, looking for the rules that govern this new bizarre world.

“The city’s population shrank to the point where the remaining survivors were able to piece together an idea of what The Empty’s abilities were,” Joshua answers. “In that group were three hunters - people like me, Sam, and Dean who had experience working with and against the supernatural. They couldn’t figure out how to kill it, to look upon it was to have it exist, so they decided to trap it instead. It wasn’t a single act; it was a process, and according to their accounts it took days of non-stop work from many people.”

Joshua gestures to the map in the book in front of them again. Tracing a finger over the features as he continues to speak. 

“First, they limited it to a single area, within the walls of the city. Then, they pushed it into an even smaller area, the triangle here; and created warded areas that were safe. They did something to try and limit some of its supernatural abilities, and finally, forced it from our reality entirely by essentially trapping it mid-shift.”

“After that,” Joshua continues, “the people of the city built these three churches to stand over the three focal points of that trap or cage spell and the other protection enchantments. Each church was built inside the warded areas to ensure that if The Empty returned it wouldn’t be able to access these spaces. The hunters that originally set it all up were placed in charge of the churches. The other survivors worked to bury what happened here, to protect the secret of the city. The remnants of that community still exist today, it is as I said earlier, we are small in number but very close.”

“And now, here we are 300 years later with it having broken free.” Cas finishes quietly. 

“It didn’t break free - it was let go,” Dean reminds them all.

“Oh yes,” a new voice joins the conversation. Everyone jumps in their seats, and turns to face the door. “It was let go.”

“Jesus, Missouri, don’t fucking scare us like that. I’m probably gonna end up accidently shooting you one day,” Dean snaps, clearly flustered. He slowly moves his hand away from his back. Castiel himself relaxes and releases his hold on his own firearm.

The oft-mentioned Missouri stands in the doorway of the office, she raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Dean. Behind her is the somewhat familiar countenance of another priest, a friend of Joshua’s named Balthazar.

“I am glad you two could make it,” Joshua says, standing up from the table. 

“Yes well,” Balthazar says, “You did say it was an absolute emergency and that our sacred duty has been for nought. Tends to really get one moving.”

“Michael has broken our vows - and let The Empty free,” Joshua states.

“According to who?” Balthazar says skeptically, “These ‘fine gentlemen’?”

“I got a low threshold for sass, young man. The Winchesters are not at fault here,” Missouri says, as she walks into the office. She casts a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulder at the other priest. Like Joshua, Balthazar is dressed in casual clothes, jeans and plain t-shirts, though the younger priest’s clothing looks to be in better overall condition. 

“Forgive me, but I am having trouble believing that Michael,  _ Michael _ , who once lectured me at length about making sure to keep the cage lines in our churches properly covered, actively and willingly unleashed the thing?” Balthazar hovers at the edges of the room, leaning against one of Joshua’s bookcases. 

“Sorry to burst your bubble, dude, but we were  _ there _ . And I can promise you your buddy Michael was definitely an enthusiastic participant in whatever ritual let loose this thing.”

“Did he happen to mention  _ why _ he’d decided to leave his life’s work behind?” Balthazar snarls at Dean. “Because Michael has worked against the supernatural for his entire life. Werewolves killed his parents, and he lost the love of his life to a vengeful ghost - he wouldn’t willingly help any supernatural creature!”

“I’m sorry, werewolves are real too?” Castiel asks of the room. He knows he’s focusing on a truly ridiculous aspect of this entire conversation, but he can’t help it. With every new creature that is confirmed to be real, he feels as though the metaphorical chasm he balances upon deepens further.

“Oh what’s this, is Cassie a new inductee into the wide, weird world of the supernatural?” Balthazar asks, his voice snide. Castiel hasn’t spent a great deal of time around the other man, but he’s never heard him speak so viciously before.

“Castiel was the first one to see The Empty when it came through,” Sam explains carefully, clearly sensing that Balthazar isn’t at his best.

“And have they informed you of what The Empty is going to do to you, Cassie-boy?”

“Ease up, man,” Dean growls. Castiel realizes that Dean still has his hand on his forearm. The detective is somewhat ashamed; Dean must feel Castiel shaking.

“We don’t have time to mollycoddle anyone,” Balthazar hisses. “If what you claim is true, then The Empty will stop at nothing to find him and consume him. He needs to be aware of how much danger he’s in.”

Castiel pushes back from the table and stands. With a small pang of remorse he pulls his arm free of Dean. 

“I’m very aware of the danger I’m in, thank you for your concern.” Castiel replies as steady as he can. The attention of the room is once more on him, but it feels different this time, overwhelming. 

“Excuse me please,” Castiel says, at a loss for anything else, and walks towards the door. He hears Dean call his name, but he keeps going, making sure to pull the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the wait! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please leave a kudos or a comment with what your favorite line was! Thank you Jaeh for all your editing help on this one. :D


	5. Quiet

Dean finds Cas sitting in the heart of the church, front pew, left side, and staring at the altar with a terrifyingly blank look on his face. His hands are held neatly in his lap, but they clench and unclench, flicking off one another with nervous energy. The hunter takes a seat next to the detective and says nothing, just joins the other man in looking up at the altar. 

“Sam said demons were real,” Cas says. Dean glances over at him, but he hasn’t turned away from what’s in front of them.

“They are,” Dean confirms. 

“Does that mean hell is real?”

Dean doesn’t want to make Cas’ evening worse, but he also can’t lie to him, not about this. 

“Yes, it is.”

“What about heaven then?”

“Never got absolute confirmation on that one, Cas, sorry. But I guess if hell is real, then heaven probably is too.”

“Christ,” Cas says with feeling, “I’m going to have to stop blaspheming.” 

Incredulous, Dean laughs. “Don’t go rushing to make any huge lifestyle changes, dude. Not everything shouted from the pulpit is true. Way I see it, the Bible is only as true as a bunch of oral myths told over and over by a bunch of crusty dudes in the desert can be.”

“So I won’t burn in hell for wearing mixed clothing,” Cas picks at his slacks here, “Loathing my neighbors or sleeping with men?”

Dean will never admit it, not in a million, gazillion years, but his heart does a little leap in his chest at that last one. 

“Cas, I’m not a good person. I steal, lie, kill and never, ever turn the other fucking cheek. I’m not saying I’m an expert on what gets you sent to hell, but I’m telling you: I’m way ahead in the line if there is one. I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.”

“But you protect the innocent.”

“And what exactly do  _ you do _ Mr. Police Officer?”

For the first time, Dean sees a genuine smile steal across Cas’ face. His eyes crinkle, and his lips curl into a wide grin. His chuckle sounds rusty, unused - dude does seem to be the somber, serious type. Dean smiles back at the detective, glad to see some of the disparing clouds move from the man’s face.

“What’s wrong with your neighbors?”

“What?” Cas gives him a perplexed look, tilting his head to the side in that bird-like fashion of his. 

“You said you loathe your neighbors.”

“Oh, I did, didn’t I? Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter if you know. It’s an older woman and her adult daughter. They live together in the other half of my duplex. The mother is an alcoholic, she’s emotionally abusive to her daughter.”

“Nothing you can do?” Dean asks, a sharp pang ringing in his chest. He swears,  _ swears _ , for just a moment he gets a whiff of Jim Beam; and in the back of his memory, a rickety hotel door slams shut behind an image of his father.

“The daughter is an adult, and I’ve tried to get her to seek help but she refuses. And...well, the daughter complained about me to my Captain. She said I was harassing them. It’s why I was put on light duty: my actions are currently under investigation.”

“Ah. I’m sorry, Cas. I know that’s hard.”

“We can’t save everyone, right? That’s one of the first things you learn as an officer.”

“Yea, you learn it pretty quick as a hunter too.”

Cas finally turns to look at him, shifting in his seat so that he can look at Dean more easily. Dean calmly looks back, unwilling to hurry Cas along at anything. The dude has been a trooper thus far, and no matter what that prick Balthazar has said, Cas deserves some time to find his footing.

“What about you and Sam?”

“What about us?”

“How did you two start hunting?”

Dean pauses, a bit surprised at the turn in the conversation. Flustered, he looks back at the altar. 

The church really is stunning. The sanctuary has a huge stained glass window on the back wall, it’s top curved to match the chancel and the rest of the nave, all of which sloped into these great big arches. Even though he and Cas hadn’t been whispering, their voices echoed up as if they were, filling the great space with a soothing susurrus.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says suddenly. He’s looking down at his hands when Dean glances back. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay, man. I get that you’re curious, hell, I’d be too. It’s just...Joshua was right, you know? Almost all of us come into this because we lost someone and we lost them bloody. It’s never a good memory.”

“So you and Sam…?”

“Our mom.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Dean shrugs, and goes back to looking at the altar. Like with most churches, there is an effigy of Christ displayed above it. The main lights of the room make the warm wood of the effigy shine. The pristine, white cloth over the altar also seems to somehow have its own light - an ethereal glow that only adds to the overall solemn but sacred air of the space. He chooses to keep his eyes gazing forward while he speaks.

“Mom got tangled up with a demon somehow, we never found out why. Dad thought it must have been a deal of some kind: you know the whole sell your soul schtick you hear about in the books and movies? Yea, that’s a real thing. Well, whatever it was, a demon came to our house one night, killed her and set the place on fire.”

The hunter pauses here and rubs a tired hand over his face, running his fingers through his hair then back to his neck. He keeps his head down, but cuts his eyes over to Cas who’s watching him with rapt attention. His own blue gaze never wavering. 

“I was four,” Dean admits. “Sammy was 6 months.”

Cas doesn’t say anything further, but Dean can see the horror return to his countenance. 

“And your father?”

“He became a hunter,” Dean says, gesturing helplessly. “And it became the family business.”

“So you two grew up in this?”

“Yep, well, we kept Sammy in the dark for a good while. It was hard though, the kid’s a super genius.”

“But...what about you?” 

“Ah, you know, someone had to keep watch while Dad went after whatever monster we were hunting that week.”

Cas narrows his eyes, almost squinting at Dean, his brow furrowed. To Dean, he almost looks like some disgruntled bird of prey. It’s honestly a little amusing and weirdly endearing. The guy is hot enough to turn Dean’s head based on the two day scruff and blue eyes alone, it’s not at all fair that he can manage to be adorable too.

“What?” Dean asks, finally, when the silence has gone on for too long. Cas seems to reach some internal conclusion because instead of speaking, he just nods to himself. He drops his shoulders and relaxes in the pew. Something in the man just...uncoils. Dean has no idea how, but the man seems to be back on even footing once more. 

“I think...I am very lucky to have met you Dean Winchester.”

Once again, Dean is completely taken aback. This conversation hasn’t turned out at all as he was expecting. Talking down civilians is practically one of his super powers, but he has yet to lie, soothe, or even keep someone from hyperventilating. 

“O...kay,” Dean says carefully, still confused. But Cas just smiles at him, a quieter one than before, but still genuine. He looks like he’s about to share his epiphany with Dean, but unfortunately, his little brother manages to break up their conversation with all the subtlety of a moose on ice.

“So get this!” Sam announces as he strides into the chancel. He ducks his head to keep from smacking his face on the frame of the small door Dean had used. “Balthazar was helping Michael with some of the ...oh. I’m interrupting something, aren’t I?”

Dean can’t help but roll his eyes at his brother as he stands up. Cas is right behind him as they head back towards Joshua’s office and whatever battle plans are undoubtedly being laid. 

“Don’t worry about it, Sam. Did you set Balthazar straight or am I gonna need to have it out with him as well?”

“No, I’ve got him convinced. I mean, he’s helping us gather more information on The Empty at least.”

“Uh huh. He still bein’ a bastard about Cas?” 

“It’s fine, Dean.” Cas intones from just behind him. The three of them file through the small door and into the hallway beyond.

“No it’s not, you got enough to deal with. Some two-bit British asshole doesn’t need to be adding to it by being an absolute douche canoe about this.”

“He seems to be pretty focused on the problem at hand, now,” Sam assures them. The door to Joshua’s office stands open and the three of them can hear Missouri’s voice rise impatiently above the others. 

Dean glances over his shoulder at Cas, taking in the detective’s visage one more time. He looks collected, grounded somehow. Which, while still baffling to Dean, is also very reassuring to see. 

“You ready for this?” Dean asks, because he has to be sure. 

Cas just looks at him, blue eyes calm. “Lead the way.”

← →

Two more chairs have been added to the small round table in Joshua’s office. They are crowded in, making it almost impossible for them all to sit comfortably, but they manage to all fit anyhow. Castiel notices that this time, he ends up tucked between the Winchester brothers, thanks to the not so subtle maneuvering of Dean.

Balthazar’s demeanor at the table is still closed off and defensive. His arms are crossed over his chest and he is leaning back in his chair as if to put as much distance between himself and the rest of them as possible.

“I was...perhaps a little caustic to you Castiel, earlier. I apologize. This evening has been hard on all of us but that’s no excuse for acting like a cad.”

Dean scoffs but Castiel speaks up before the hunter can say anything.

“I appreciate the apology, Balthazar. No hard feelings, I understand what it means to have things you were sure of upended suddenly.”

“Yes well, I’m willing to work with you all because I believe you when you say the thing got out; but I’m still not 100% with you on Michael being the cause of all of it.”

“We told you that we saw him -” Dean starts, but Balthazar interrupts.

“You don’t know what you saw,” the priest hisses, “Maybe Michael was trying to stop it from breaking free; maybe he was trying to repair the spell or something.”

“We might not be as fluent in Latin as you are,” Sam says, “but we know enough to understand what’s being said and what’s being cast. Michael was working to tear the protections down, not strengthen them.”

“Did you talk to him at all?” Balthazar demands. 

“When we were supposed to have done that exactly?” Dean asks. “We went to the church with the intention of just poking around a bit and having a look at the cage spell on the floor! We were  _ not _ expecting to find your buddy mid-casting with the engraving burning away and catching the altar on fire, while he cackles his way through some really shitty Latin.”

“It confuses me that Michael would choose tonight to try and break the spell holding The Empty,” Missouri interrupts, clearly trying to steer the conversation back into constructive waters. 

“Why?” Castiel asks.

“Because if one wanted to break all the spells entirely and truly release all of the safeguards at once, you’d need to do it on a full moon night.” Joshua explains.

“So only the cage spell has been broken?” Sam asks eagerly. “We were curious when we realized that The Empty couldn’t teleport like the lore said it could - maybe some of the suppression spells are still working?”

“Yes, precisely. As I explained earlier, the spells were done as a process, not all at once. If someone wanted to undo them all at the same time, they would have to tackle the  _ first _ spell that was cast on The Empty, the sort of...foundation, if you will, in order to bring the whole thing down.”

“And the first spell was the one that trapped it within city, right?” Dean confirms.

“That’s right,” Joshua nods. “That spell is not anchored at any of the churches, but at the geographical center of the city. And that one can only be broken on a full moon night.”

“So it’s definitely not getting out of the city?” Castiel asks.

“Not to my knowledge.”

Castiel relaxes some at that piece of information. He’s horrified that this thing is lurking around on the streets of his home, but at least he doesn’t have to worry about it escaping until they’ve dealt with it. 

“Okay so we have a deadline then,” Sam points out. “The full moon is in 3 days.”

“We gotta track down Michael,” Dean says. “We need to know exactly what parts of the spell he broke and how and what his end goal is.”

“Well apparently you two were the last to see him, so where is he?” Balthazar snaps.

“We got into it at his church,” Sam explains, clearly trying to be diplomatic. “When we realized that The Empty was likely escaping, Dean ran for Willow St., and I stayed behind to deal with Michael. That was yet another thing that didn’t go to plan.” 

“He escaped?” Missouri asks.

“Yea, he was slinging around some really impressive magic. I uh,” Sam glances at Balthazar nervously. “I tried to shoot him, but missed. The bullet ricocheted through a window and hit the transformer next to the church and killed the power. Lost him in the dark.”

“You tried...to shoot him?”

“In my defense, he’d just thrown a fireball at my head. I mean, that kinda demands a response.”

Balthazar suddenly leans forward and rests his head in his hands. He digs his fingers into his scalp, the skin around his nails turns white from the pressure. 

“I just...I don’t understand.” The man says dully, his voice muffled. 

He looks up at them with pleading eyes. 

“Michael is one of my oldest friends, he’s the one that convinced me to move here after I retired from hunting. I don’t...I cannot imagine this of him. He doesn’t even  _ like _ researching! When we hunted together in the past I was always the one doing the digging into the lore or local legends or archives, and Michael was out charming information out of the locals. He can scarcely manage to sit still for more than an hour! And yet, you’re trying to tell me that he dedicated untold hours to research and the study of magic? Really?”

“He’s been gathering resources about the spells for weeks now,” Missouri points out. “You didn’t find that strange?”

“He said he just wanted to make sure that we all had full copies of everything available. That was understandable; the omens that started up a few weeks ago were deeply concerning to all of us. Besides, he was still leaving a lot of the translating and archiving to me and Joshua.”

“He was manipulating you,” Dean states firmly, “He was pulling together everything he could on The Empty because he wanted to find a way to bring it all down.”

“But then, why tonight and not in three days?” Castiel presses.

“Maybe he got worried when I reached out to Missouri about the omens and asked to her find us some hunters -”

Joshua cuts himself off at the sound of a muffled crash. The noise continues as though several heavy things were all knocked over in rapid succession -  _ Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. _

They all tense. Sam and Dean both get to their feet, guns in hand. Castiel follows them, drawing his own firearm as well.

“That...sounds like it’s coming from the nave,” Joshua says calmly. “It cannot be The Empty, the protections on the church are still in place.”

“You’re sure?” Dean asks.

“Positive. I checked them right before you arrived.”

“Then let’s go see who’s trying to get our attention,” Dean replies. He takes point, and Sam falls instantly into step just behind his brother’s left shoulder. Castiel instinctively completes the triangle, covering Dean’s right side without being asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me for the cliffhanger! I promise the next chapter will be along shortly. Thank you for reading!


	6. Churches

Castiel keeps his firearm pointed towards the floor as he closely follows behind Dean. The hallway is narrow enough that they can’t walk abreast with one another, but Sam lets Castiel take the middle position while he brings up the rear. Balthazar, Joshua, and Missouri are behind them and Castiel wants to tell them to stay put in the office; but at the same time, feels so very unsure and knows he’s probably the least experienced of this bunch.

Dean reaches the door to the main part of the church, and without looking gestures over his shoulder sharply to the left. Castiel wordlessly moves to cover the left side of the door where it opens. Sam stacks himself in the hall just behind his brother but slightly off center of the door, meaning he’ll be able to shoot without hitting Dean. Dean places his free hand on the door knob, ready to wrench it open. He catches Castiel’s eyes and the detective nods, he then looks back at his brother who also gives him a tight nod.

Castiel has just enough time to take in a deep, calming breath before Dean flings the door open.

“What the hell?” Dean remarks, clearly surprised. He doesn’t seem to mark anything immediately threatening however, so Castiel swings towards him a little, so he can see more of the church proper.

A quick scan notes that there are a couple of pews knocked askew, and a few of the large iron standing candelabras are laying in the main aisle. Before Castiel can finish checking the entire room a figure stumbles from behind one of the large pillars, toppling into another candelabra and sending it crashing to the floor.

“ _You_ ,” the elder Winchester fairly snarls, stepping through the doorway with Castiel and his brother hot on his heels. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do, asshole.”

Sam and Castiel fall into position behind Dean again, Cas to the right and Sam on the left, all of them with their guns drawn on the stranger. The stranger’s clothes are a mess. His jeans are muddy, and the shirt he’s wearing appears to be on backwards. He’s tall, taller than Castiel, and has an imposing countenance. His dark colored hair is knotted and snarled, and even at this distance Castiel can see that he looks worse for the wear - like he crawled out from under a bar.

“ _ You two _ ,” the man hisses, “Nearly ruined everything. I was minutes away from finishing my spell, you couldn’t have come blundering in just a bit later?!”

“Sorry to cause such an inconvenience,” Sam remarks, his tone cool.

“Michael?” Balthazar’s voice is shaky and uncertain from the doorway behind them. Castiel doesn’t risk a glance, but just from the man’s tone he can imagine the pained devastation on his face. “What are you doing?”

“That should be obvious, Balthazar, I’m trying to fix things. I was almost done until these two morons interrupted me.”

“You were  _ not _ trying to fix the spells,” Dean says. His tone is firm and absolute. “You were working on pulling them down. We  _ heard you _ .”

“You don’t know what you heard,” Michael replies, fierce and uncompromising. The man himself however, is unsteady. His eyes keep bouncing from Dean to Sam to Balthazar, and also to the altar, the effigy, the ceiling, even to the mess he’s made of the pews and candelabras. 

“Then what were you trying to fix, Michael?” Joshua implores. “We had checked all of the spells together, there weren’t any breaches.”

“But the omens, Joshua, the omens were still happening, it had to be something with my church, had to be. The spell was meant to help me diagnose the issue!”

“They why not tell us?” Missouri asks shrewdly. “You could have let us know, we could have all helped.”

“It’s my responsibility!” Michael shouts. He’s so loud and so forceful that Castiel flinches. 

“It’s all of our responsibility!” Balthazar replies, just as loudly. “We are all meant to protect these spells. And if you had told us what you were doing then Missouri would have warned the Winchesters! They wouldn’t have even been there this evening.”

“This wasn’t a mistake,” Sam interjects. “And Michael was  _ not _ trying to fix  _ anything _ .”

“You’re just trying to avoid blame,” Michael hisses. He turns his attention to Balthazar, and his voice instantly softens, “How long have we known each other? You know I wouldn’t do anything to risk the protections. Who are you going to believe, Balthazar?”

“A diagnostic spell wouldn’t have  _ broken anything _ .” Sam reminds them all. “If you had just been trying to figure out a problem, or find a crack, then the trap spell wouldn’t have broken and The Empty wouldn’t have escaped. If you had been just checking on the spells, then why did your church’s protections fall?”

“Check my church!” Michael shouts, flinging his arms open wide, so much so that he has to take a few steps back to keep his balance. “Check the carvings, check the spells and we’ll see who’s telling the truth.”

“You know we can’t leave this church you dipshit. The Empty will be on us in a second,” Dean snarls. 

Michael shakes his head in disappointment, he is so mercurial Castiel is having trouble keeping up. There’s something wrong. They’re missing something and Castiel knows it. A shiver crawls down his spine.

“So it saw one of you. It’s after one of you? Serves you right for trying to meddle in things you don’t understand.”

“You can’t mean that, surely,” Joshua says, appalled

Michael’s face drops, his hands twitch at his sides. He glares at them all. “Mean it? I absolutely mean it! Maybe this will teach you not to poke your nose in. I was doing my duty, doing my job and the two of them -” He cuts himself off, with a hand over his mouth. His eyes flicker over them all, then to the altar, then to the ceiling and back to them.

“Balthazar,” he implores, “My friend, you know that I wouldn’t do this. They must have messed the spell up somehow when they interrupted me. It’s their fault it got free.”

“If it was an accident,” Balthazar says carefully; Dean scoffs. “Then it was no one’s fault, Michael. We all should have been more up front with each other. Joshua should have told us that he was calling for hunters and you should have told us that you were planning on testing the spells.”

Michael smiles, but it’s this parody of happiness.

“You’re right, Balthy,” Michael snipes his tone utterly sarcastic, “We’re all at fault here, huh? I mean it’s not like I was just trying to do my JOB or anything!”

“Michael -”

“No!” He shouts at them, “You do not get to lecture me on how I protect my church. You do not get to make me feel guilty for trying to FIX THINGS! I have sacrificed too much, given too much, you do not get to...to...QUESTION ME.”

“Oh dear Christ on a cracker,” Dean suddenly says. “Give it a rest, man. You’re not the only one here who’s got that kind of job. And you aren’t fooling anyone; my brother and I know what you did _. _ ”

“Did what?” Michael replies snidely. “I didn’t break the protections - YOU DID!”

Dean says nothing, but Castiel can see his grip tightening on his gun. The hunter brings it to bear on Michael, shifting his aim from the man’s knees towards center mass. Dean must feel it too: the air is becoming oppressive. Something is building.

And in the back of his mind, an old snippet of poetry steals forward and his mind whispers:  _ something wicked this way comes _ .

“Joshua,” Castiel says suddenly, “Where are the protections for this church?”

Sam visibly startles next to him, casting a worried, revelatory glance at him. Dean tenses even more.

“They’re...under the altar,” Joshua’s voice is faint, uncertain. Afraid. Castiel winces - he never finished checking the rest of the room. He casts a fast glance to the crossing. He can’t be sure, but the altar does look somewhat askew.

“Sam.” Dean orders firmly. The younger Winchester keeps his gun on Michael, but moves to the side swinging over from their position towards the altar space.

Michael has fixed his eyes unerringly on Castiel.

“I only needed a few more minutes,” the man says simply, his tone holding none of the rage and emptiness that Castiel can see in his eyes. He’s stopped moving, stopped swaying. All of a sudden, like flipping a switch, Michael is still now, calm and perfectly focused.

“He’s moved the altar over. There’s some kind of acid on the floor,” Sam says weakly, “The engravings are almost gone.”

“No,” Balthazar moans.

“You utter fool,” Missouri says sadly. 

“How long, Sam?” 

“I don’t know, I think he’s right, a few minutes tops.”

“It’s close, getting closer,” Castiel says.

“You sure?” Dean queries.

“Yes, I recognize this now, I think I can just...feel its proximity if I’m looking for it.”

“Well that will come in handy,” Dean quips, clearly trying to sound upbeat. 

“So you broke the seal on the trap spell, burned the protection of your church, and used acid on this one. What are you planning on breaking next?” Sam asks. He has his phone out and is taking fast pictures of the engraving, though he still keeps his gun on Michael.

“I can’t break the city wide containment until the full moon,” Michael answers, his tone almost conversational. “But I can make sure it has run of the city until then if I break all of the churches’ protections.”

Michael turns to look at Joshua. “Thank you so much for calling Balthazar out of his church. I would have hated having to hurt him.”

Castiel has to turn and catch Balthazar as the other man comes charging forward. Frantically, he lowers his gun, and uses one hand on Baltazar’s chest to shove the priest back towards the door. 

“You complete bastard!” Balthazar shouts, “Have you taken leave of all your senses! You’ve unleashed hell on the city! People will die! They will ALL DIE!”

“Yes they will!” Michael shouts back. “And they’ll know then, won’t they?! They’ll know what’s out there, the kinds of things that feast on mankind and have no remorse for the innocent!”

“It is so nice to be recognized, don’t you think so?” an oily, strangely accented voice asks.

It’s sitting in one of the pews in the very back of the church. One of the great wooden doors, too heavy for a single person to open, is cracked just enough for someone to slide in. Castiel can see a sliver of the night sky and the front church yard, a single street lamp glows a sodium orange.

Castiel steps forward, shoulder to shoulder with Dean and levels his gun at The Empty.

← →

Shit, shit, shit,  _ shit _ .

Half of Dean’s mind curses viciously while the other, well-trained half, instantly catalogs the facts of the situation. Three weapons, at least two dozen blessed bullets between them, and the monster currently rising to its feet to saunter down the aisle. Two known exits, one unreachable, one back the way they came. Three unarmed people to protect. Sam’s at a good angle to provide cover, but also the furthest from the doorway.

And if Michael is to be believed, there are no more safe spaces within the walls of the city. 

The math doesn’t look great, but Dean’s worked with worse odds. He doesn’t need to win the war right now, he just needs to get his people out of this confrontation. Winning can wait until later.

“You’re...really here…” Michael says, his voice faint with awe or surprise, Dean can’t tell which. The nut job priest has turned away from them to face The Empty. 

“Of course I am,” it replies with a grin. Dean mentally shudders at the sight of its teeth. That is fucking creepy as fuck and he’s an authority on that subject. 

“You broke the trap open,” it says to Michael, coming to a stop in front of him. It examines the man with a weird detached curiosity. From the corner of Dean’s eye he sees Sam making frantic ‘shoo’ motions at Joshua, Missouri and Balthazar with one hand. He can’t risk checking, but he furiously hopes the three of them are doing exactly that. 

“I did,” Michael admits outright for the first time. “I wanted people to know, you see. I wanted people to learn that the supernatural is real - that heaven and hell, demons, the Devil, sins, repenting, salvation - they have to know it’s real. They have to know before it’s too late. We have to return to being a God-fearing world, it’s the only way to save  _ everyone,  _ you see? I can save them all,  _ forever _ .” The priest is reverent, sincere in a way that he hasn’t been until this moment. Dean can only see part of his face, but he looks so...determined. So assured. So impervious. 

So when The Empty reaches out and blithely snaps his neck, it’s definitely a surprise. The monster watches unaffected as Michael’s body drops to the floor. Cas chokes on an inhale, a strange sort of cut off noise of shock. But his gun doesn’t waver an inch. 

“I don’t actually care,” The Empty tells the dead body at its feet. It then looks up at Dean and Cas. 

“Ahhhh, hello dinner,” it whispers with a loving hiss. 

“Don’t come any closer,” Cas orders, his voice is higher than normal but still firm. “We will shoot you and you know these hurt.”

“What is a little pain for a meal? It’s been so long since I last ate.”

Dean almost squeezes off a round just for that. 

“Fasting is so in these days,” Dean sasses instead. “You really should consider keeping it up, gotta keep that handsome figure trim.”

“Levity in the face of fear, I knew hunters like you once.” It replies simply. “It does not matter what you face me with. I will eat.”

“Why though?” Sam queries suddenly. Dean can tell without looking that Sam must have been silently creeping closer to their position. The Empty looks over at his brother. Dean risks a fast glance over his shoulder. The others are gone, and Dean lets out a relieved breath.

“Why do you have to feed the way you do? You clearly don’t have too, you’re still alive even though it’s been centuries.” Sam pushes again.

“I am that I am,” The Empty sneers. It’s easy to determine the thing as completely different from Cas, but Dean’ll admit it’s still completely off putting to see that expression on Cas’ features. 

“How were you made?” Cas queries tightly. The Empty returns its attention to the detective. Dean fights the urge to step in between them entirely. 

“It does not matter, I cannot be unmade.”

“Everything dies,” Dean growls. “Some things go down hard, some go down easy, but everything dies.”

It smiles at them, its mouth an unnatural split that takes up almost all of its lower jaw and face. 

“Wouldn’t that be such a comforting thought, if it were true.”

Cas puts a blessed bullet right between its eyes. Dean can get behind that kind of rebuttal. 

The Empty, again, sort of loses its grip on its form. The details of the facsimile disappear completely, the clothes, the hair, the flesh, but it remains stubbornly human shaped this time. Its form is completely black, a dark pit absent of light - save the strange impression of sliding movement on the surface, like a completely opaque liquid somehow standing before them in Cas’ general shape and size.

It doesn’t screech this time, more of a choked back whine.

Dean shoots it again. Sam follows up with a round of his own. Both brothers hit center mass and the thing flinches when the bullets hit. It then gives a shivery sort of shake before rushing down the aisle at Dean and Cas. 

“Fuck!” Dean snarls, putting three more rounds in it as it glides across the floor at a running pace. It screams in pain this time. 

Cas and Dean shove each other out of the way and The Empty collapses into a formless lump where they had been standing. It doesn’t stay down however - it  _ leans _ in the direction of Cas, as if it were filled with iron filings and Cas were a magnet.

“We have got to get you out of here!” Dean states, his mind already flickering through possible destinations. He wonders where Joshua, Missouri and Balthazar are headed.

“And go where?” Cas demands. The detective has skirted around the writhing monster and now stands in the main aisle.

“Can we not discuss our options in  _ front of it _ ?” Sam asks, his tone so bitchy that Dean can’t help but smile just a bit. Cas gives him such a look of exasperation that Dean feels almost giddy.

The Empty continues to writhe on the floor, its motions tight, wounded and jerky. And then, between one blink and the next, it is up, across the stones and has Cas in its grip - half formed and snarling.

“ _ Empty; I am Empty and you are MINE! _ ”

Cas goes pale, unnaturally so. Dean is already in motion, Sam only a half step behind him. In the second that it takes for them to cross the same stones that The Empty seemed to do in an instant, it starts to  _ take _ from Cas. Dean doesn’t know how to describe it, he’ll never be able to find the right words; but something vital starts to leave Cas, siphoned away and into the monster that holds him like an errant puppy by his neck. The Empty’s form shudders and ripples, flesh, hair, clothes returning in a flash.

Dean rams into its lower back with every ounce of his strength. All three of them go down. Dean wraps his arms around the thing’s middle and rolls to the side, wrenching it away from Cas. Sam uses his longer legs to his advantage, dodges the scrum of flailing limbs, and scoops Cas up by his armpits and hauls him free. 

Dean can’t see anymore. He’s suddenly too occupied with The Empty who fucking  _ slithers _ out of Dean’s hold. It goes liquid and formless where Dean tries to keep a grip on it. Dean quickly abandons those efforts and scrambles away from it on hands and knees knowing what’s coming next.

Sure enough, his baby brother obligingly puts at least four shots in The Empty. All four land, but The Empty just stands there and takes them. The rounds make patches of black appear in its stolen guise, little black holes that swirl and then reform back into flesh and clothes. 

It raises the hand it used to hold Cas by the neck and licks its fingers.

“That was  _ delicious _ .” It whispers, eyes wide with inhuman pleasure.

Dean gets to his feet, gun in one hand. He slides his other arm around Cas to support him on the side that Sam isn’t already holding up. The detective hangs limply between them, and Dean can feel Cas panting against him.

The Empty takes a leisurely step towards them. Dean and Sam shuffle backwards, dragging Cas. The detective is still slumped and unresponsive; Dean can’t tell if he’s even fully awake or aware. The hunter feels a splinter of despair strike his heart.

“Hmmm, certainly whets the appetite,” it teases, strolling forward again. They hastily slide back again, trying to maintain the distance between them and the monster.

“Eat this, then.” Balthazar says suddenly. All four of them jerk in surprise to face the British priest standing in the small side doorway. He has an open book in his hands, and with a gesture a huge glowing ball of bright white and orange fire appears and overtakes The Empty. The heat is so strong that Dean can feel his skin tighten and burn even from where they stand a few feet away. 

The hunters don’t even bother verbally coordinating. The Empty screams in anger and pain from inside the roaring fire, which is more than enough for Dean and Sam to turn and book it. The detective is thankfully shorter than both of them so the hunters lift and carry him in tandem. 

They squeeze through the front door, and out into the courtyard. The front gate is already open, a minivan is parked on the curb with its side door open and waiting. Missouri is behind the wheel, while Joshua is frantically waving at them to hurry. 

Dean and Sam shove Cas into the seat next to Joshua, who holds the insensate detective up. Dean piles into the back seat and his brother does his best to follow, folding his gigantor legs up and getting in as well. Balthazar comes pelting around the side of the church, hauling ass and dodging gravestones, book tucked under his arm.

“Go, Go, Go, GO!” He shouts and Missouri guns it just as the priest jumps, his feet landing on the running board of the van, grabbing the rack on top as a hand hold. They all look back just in time to catch one last glimpse of a dark figure standing in the now fully open front doorway. Red and black flames writhe around it like a full-bodied, sinister halo. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big THANK YOU to everyone who has left me kudos or comments. I really appreciate it! :D


	7. Allies

A monster beyond imagining grabs Castiel by the throat and he thinks, this is what suffocating must feel like.

But he isn’t cut off from air. He’s suddenly cut off from something more important, something he requires more than oxygen. Whatever it is, his supply is being stolen, sucked into this horrible black void spinning in front of him. The detective, for the briefest of seconds, sees beyond the skin the thing is wearing, and into the center of it. 

There’s nothing there. 

Whatever it is siphoning off of Castiel’s being is disappearing into the emptiness, without a single sign it was ever there to begin with. 

After that there’s nothing else to really say on the matter.

Distantly, Castiel knows something changes. There’s noise, movement, the warmth of fellow humans holding him up. It all seems to be happening to someone else, somehow. 

Internally, all Castiel feels is that great chasm that has been stalking him all night. That deep place which has no bottom he’s been teetering on the edge of. 

A roar of a car engine. Someone is trying to hold him upright. Someone is shouting. 

He can’t hold on anymore. And so, with a sigh, he falls. 

← →

It’s the tick of an analog clock that pulls him back to consciousness. The normal, almost nostalgic sound has him at ease when he opens his eyes. 

The room around him is dim, lit by a single lamp on a side table in the far corner. He’s lying on a red couch, the corduroy fabric worn smooth in a few places. He’s too tall for it; someone has taken off his shoes and propped his heels up on the sofa’s arm. He’s still wearing his slacks and plain button down. 

Dean Winchester sits in a matching red chair next to the far end of the sofa. His flannel rolled up to his elbows, and he’s sitting mostly relaxed in the chair, an old leather bound tome dominating his lap. His lips move soundlessly as he reads closely in the faint light, eyes squinting at what Castiel imagines is very cramped font. 

He’s...beautiful. 

The thought is a strange one to have at this exact moment, but it’s what comes to him. Dean’s only half-lit by the light, it’s yellow glow has turned his hair a honey blonde with gold filigree at the ends. Even at this distance, Castiel can see the curve of his cheek, the faint freckles on the bridge of his nose, and the five o’clock shadow shading his jaw. 

All this running, fighting, talking, and nearly dying had Castiel almost completely overlook the sheer physical beauty the hunter embodies. 

“Dean?” he croaks out, his dry throat protesting his words. Dean snaps to attention, shutting the book with a thump and getting to his feet.

“Cas, hey dude,” Dean replies. He puts the book down on the low coffee table in front of the couch, then shuffles between them to have a seat on it himself. There’s a glass of water waiting on the table as well, and Dean carefully offers it to him.

Castiel levers weight onto his elbows. Everything seems to be in working order, but all his muscles feel sluggish. He shifts a little higher on the sofa, leaning back against the arm of it. He takes the water and gratefully drains about half of it.

“I am so glad you’re awake, man” Dean says simply, folding his hands in front of him while resting his elbows on his thighs. “We were really worried when you lost consciousness entirely in the van.”

“Where are we?”

“Some friend of Missouri’s. She’s staying here while her friend is apparently on vacation. But we’re outside the old city walls, so for the moment, we should be completely safe from The Empty.”

“The others?”

“Missouri’s here with us, she’s just in the kitchen. Sam, Joshua and Balthazar went to go check Balthazar’s church and to get our car. My Baby has got all our supplies and weapons in it.”

Castiel frowns, uncertain. “Are we sure that’s safe?”

Dean shrugs, his features a little drawn, he’s concerned, Castiel thinks. “We don’t really have many choices right now. We need more silver bullets, we need more information, and all of those things are in the city.”

Castiel glances over at the clock on the wall. It’s a little past two in the morning. 

“Once we have those things, what happens next?”

Dean sighs and leans back. He rubs a hand over his face. He seems tired, and Castiel wonders when the last time he slept was. 

“We don’t know yet. Like I said, we need more information. But put pause on that for a sec, dude. How do  _ you _ feel?”

Castiel takes stock of himself again. Physically, he feels alright. Lethargic, sort of...worn out in a way that’s not really familiar to him. His head is sore though, as if the last dregs of a migraine were thumping in his skull. As for the rest, the brush with death, the glimpse of the void, the long drop into this new supernatural reality that has landed him on this couch, being hovered over by this hunter - well. Castiel isn’t sure when he’ll have the time to fully unpack all of that. But it seems that he still has the ability to compartmentalize it, so that’s what he does. 

“I’m...surprisingly alright. That wasn’t...it...I don’t know if I could adequately describe it to you.”

“Yea, I get that. I’m not sure I’d be able to tell you what it looked like from my point of view either.” Dean agrees. 

“Did it...do anything else? To me? To you or Sam?”

“Nah, but after it...fed?...on you it shrugged the blessed bullets Sam shot it with like they were nothing.”

“Well that’s terrifying.”

Dean snorts, but his amusement is tinged with unhappiness. The man reaches out all of a sudden, and Castiel holds perfectly still. His hand is work rough, callused and chapped in places. But his fingers are oh-so-gentle when they touch Castiel’s hair line by his temple. 

“You’ve gone grey here, just a bit,” Dean explains quietly. “Both sides. Makes you look pretty distinguished but...I’m sorry, Cas. I’m sorry we weren’t quicker.”

Castiel raises one of his hands and takes hold of Dean’s. He doesn’t let it go; instead, he lowers their joined hands to the couch. Dean lets him keep it.

“I don’t blame you or Sam for any of this.”

Dean grimaces and glances away. 

“Dean,” Castiel says firmly, shaking his hand a little to get him to look back. Dean does, and his beautiful green eyes are somber, older than the rest of him appears. 

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. And I know that Michael’s the one that let The Empty out. But that’s not...it’s not really about  _ blame _ . It’s about...I know what this life does to people, man. So yea, I hate what’s happened to you so far, but I’m worried about what’s gonna happen to you next.”

Castiel has nothing to say to that, because if the detective is honest with himself, he’s not sure what’s going to happen next either.

And yet at the same time, even in the face of that horrible uncertainty: Castiel finds that he still has faith.

Evil exists, Castiel already knew that. He has ample evidence from his day to day work to prove that a thousand times over. To find out that the supernatural is an aspect of his reality was and still is, a complete shock. But there is comfort to be had in the existence of good people working together to protect society from it. The revelation that he had while sitting in the church pew, pressed shoulder to shoulder with this man, still holds: evil exists and so do good men like Dean Winchester. So while Castiel’s world has been made bigger, it hasn’t actually changed over much. The fight continues, just on more levels than he previously knew, and Castiel knows where he’ll always place his faith.

“I’ll tell you both what’s gonna happen next,” Missouri announces her presence as she sweeps into the room holding a tray. “You’re going to get your butt off that coffee table and help Castiel sit up so he can eat this.”

Dean jumps up instantly, and Missouri swoops down with the tray. The two of them fuss over Castiel in a way that he finds wholly unfamiliar but pleasant nonetheless. Dean helps him sit up and swing his legs off the couch. Missouri fetches a blanket for his lap and pillows for either side of him to lean against. Dean sets the tray down on Castiel’s knees, his keen eyes watching for even a hint of discomfort before settling down in his chair again. Missouri takes a seat on the couch next to him and both of them proceed to watch him nibble on buttered toast and sip gratefully at a mug of warm tea.

“I’m alright,” he assures them after two triangles of toast. The bread is still hot from the toaster and its chewy texture makes Cas wonder if it’s homemade. 

“You nearly weren’t, young man,” Missouri points out, her tone simple, but still gentle. “You’ll have to excuse us if we hover a little.”

Dean makes a face at the term ‘hover’ but doesn’t actually voice any disagreement with it. 

Distantly, a rumble catches Cas’ ear, a low, bass growl of some large engine. Dean seems to hear it too. The man straightens for a moment, head turning just a little to catch the sound more cleanly. And then, as if this sound was some kind of signal, Dean simply seems to relax.

Curious, Cas listens as the rumble gets closer and closer and from his position on the couch. The detective sees the dark shape of a long black car park along the road out front of the house through a large picture window. An older model van pulls up behind it, and Balathazar and Joshua get out. From the long black car, Sam unfolds himself. 

The three men make quick work of the front steps and do not knock as they shuffle in. Cas can already read their faces - they have more bad news. 

Sam brightens when he sees Cas sitting up, however.

“Cas! How’re you feeling?” the taller Winchester brother asks, moving into the living room fully.

“I’m alright. Tired,” Cas says with a small smile, “but otherwise unharmed I think.”

“And we’re thankful for it,” Joshua states kindly.

“Dean told me you all went looking for more information? Did you find anything?”

Sam shakes his head and drops to sit on the ottoman by his brother’s chair. Balthazar lurks against the doorway, his gaze distant. Joshua takes a seat next to Missouri on the couch. 

“I’m afraid that Michael must have destroyed all the texts he could before coming to find us at St. Huberts.” Joshua explains, his features are drawn and unhappy. “He had borrowed most of my texts under the pretense of copying them, but he must have used them to research the containment spells. And apparently while at Balthazar’s church to break the enchantments he made sure to gather up all of his books as well.”

“He burned them,” Balthazar says bitterly. Cas thinks that the other priest may have been crying at some point; his eyes are red and puffy. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Cas says softly, unable to think of anything else to say. 

“For the books or for the man I thought was my friend?”

“He  _ was _ your friend,” Castiel replies, keeping his voice gentle. “And I’m sorry that he has passed.”

At this Balthazar just turns and leaves the doorway, crossing back through the foyer, into the kitchen, and out of sight. He takes up banging through the cabinets and drawers. The rest of them wisely leave him to it. 

“With the texts and lore destroyed,” Joshua speaks up drawing their attention back, “I’m afraid we’re only left with what Balthazar and I know, and the one book I had with me this evening. It has useful first hand accounts of people’s experiences with The Empty, but all of the notes and references we had for the spells and protections were destroyed by Michael.”

“So we don’t know how to fix what he broke - that’s what you’re saying?” Dean simplifies. 

“Yes,” Joshua replies, defeated, looking down at his hands in his lap. 

“We know  _ some _ things though,” Sam points out. “We know how it hunts, we know that according to the journal entries that the hunters trapped it during a shift, basically got it stuck in whatever dimension it uses to teleport from place to place.”

“Spells to bend or unbend reality ain’t exactly our speciality,” Dean says.

“No, and I have no idea if we know anyone who  _ does _ know that level of magic. But at the very least we know that it can be trapped. Joshua, is there anyone else who knew about The Empty that could have more information stashed away? A retired priest? Another hunter?”

“Not that I know of... it was just the three of us who had the real in-depth knowledge.”

“Wait, I’m confused about something,” Cas interjects. “If the hunters in the past trapped it mid-teleport, then why can’t it teleport right now?”

“What do you mean?” Dean asks. 

“I mean that whatever Michael did, it came back - or I guess, it  _ finished _ the teleport that it started hundreds of years ago, right?”

Sam leans forward, clearly interested. “That’s a good way of looking at it, I think. Based on the journal entries, they apparently forced it to make a jump, and then essentially sealed off where they knew it was going to land. Made that spot impermeable.”

“That seems to imply that it can’t change course mid-jump; it’s either it lands where it was aiming or it doesn’t land at all,” Dean says.

“I genuinely wonder what it was like for The Empty; does time exist where it was? Did it know that centuries were going by? Or, for it, did it jump in the middle of a fight and then arrive on a dark street in a completely different moment?”

“Would that mean it can technically time travel?” Cas asks.

Dean waffles a hand back and forth in the air. “Ehhh, kinda? I mean, we’ve dealt with beings that can bend time and travel in it for real. This seems less like time travel and more like just dimension hopping, the time travel seems more like a side effect than an actual ability.”

“Well, if whatever Michael did broke the restriction on it that kept it from teleporting,” Cas says, “Why doesn’t it teleport around? I mean...it walked to the station, or at least it said it did. And then it followed us from the park to the church and based on how long it took I’d say it probably just walked again. Why doesn’t it hop around?”

Sam furrows his brow as he considers the question. Dean also considers the question wordlessly, his eyes fixed on Castiel’s face. 

“I...have no idea. Joshua?” Sam asks. The older priest shakes his head.

“I’m not sure. I don’t recall much about the spell that was done to suppress its abilities. My research was focused on the final spell. That one has two parts: the anchor, which was kept at Michael’s church, and the actual casting, which was done at the place where they knew The Empty was going to come through.”

Balthazar returns to the living room. He has a bottle of red wine and a drinking glass clutched awkwardly in one hand while he drags a chair from the kitchen in with the other. He shoves the chair into place next to Sam’s ottoman and drops bonelessly into it. 

“The suppression spell was made to take advantage of one of its weaknesses: it’s a parasite,” Balthazar explains tiredly. “It has to feed before it can do pretty much anything. If it wants to teleport, it needs to feed first. If it wants to use any of its fancy abilities, it needs to feed first. If it wants to fight off blessed bullets, it needs to feed first. The suppression spell made the requirement for all of those things greater.”

“I see. So it burns through its energy faster,” Dean says. “Keep it hungry, you keep it manageable.”

“If you want to look at it that way,” Balthazar shrugs. “But you know what it also means?”

He looks at them all, waiting, while he takes a long drink from his glass of wine. Sam grimaces.

“That it has to feed before it can teleport - which means it has to feed before we can trap it again,” Castiel says quietly. 

“What?  _ No _ . It knocked Cas out flat and it had him for a  _ second _ . There’s no way to be certain we could get him free before it  _ killed him _ ,” Dean spits. 

“What if what it’s already taken from Cas is enough for it to teleport now?” Sam asks, hopeful. 

Balthazar just shrugs again. “No idea, it could have been. But it’s been a couple of hours since we got away; it could have used up whatever it got from Cassie by now while prowling around in the city. We just don’t know.”

“That feels like our ultimate problem here,” Missouri says. “We just don’t know enough.”

“What about the spell anchor?” Dean asks. “Were you able to recover it from Michael’s church?”

Sam shakes his head. “We looked all over, but I think Michael must have double backed to the church before going to Balthazar’s or coming to find us. There weren’t any texts or lore books anywhere at his church - and you and I both saw him reading from at least  _ one _ . He must have gone back to clean up and take care of all his supplies.”

“God damnit,” Dean mutters angrily, slouching back in his chair. “Why couldn’t he have decided to be The Empty’s first fucking victim. Greeted it in that intersection with open arms and let it charge its batteries on himself.”

“Michael always did like to get a feel for a fight before wading in himself,” Balthazar sneers. “He said it was a chance to spot weaknesses before he risked his neck.”

Castiel is only half listening. 

Something occurs to him all of a sudden. He stares blankly at the TV sitting in the far corner of the living room on a low cabinet. Its screen is dark, powered off.

“The cameras.”

“What?” Dean asks, turning towards Castiel instantly, clearly having heard him, even though Castiel had whispered it to himself. Castiel looks over at Dean.

“The cameras, the ones at Harrow and Willow.”

“What about them?”

“Why were they there?” Castiel asks.

Sam and Dean glance at one another, then both focus on Castiel again. 

“Aren’t they supposed to be there?” Sam asks. “I mean, they were police cams, so didn’t your department have them placed there?”

“No,” Castiel replies, “I’ve been working camera room shifts for a couple of weeks now. I know all of the cameras we have in the city and that intersection isn’t one of the ones we cover. There’s no reason to, little foot traffic, not a high crime area - nothing.”

“Someone had to put them there, could they just be new?” Dean asks. 

“They were on a separate system. The feeds I mean,” Castiel explains, his excitement growing. “The power went out at the station, and all of my normal cameras went down. I was actually told by Lt. Mills that I could go home early since there wasn’t anything for me to monitor. But there was a separate computer in the corner of the room it was still running, and the only intersection  _ that _ system had - was the Harrow and Willow cameras.”

“Michael knew where The Empty would arrive,” Sam begins, “so he must have set up cameras to monitor the intersection. He knew that if he was there in person he would get eaten.”

“But the police station,” Dean interrupts. “How on earth did he get that set up? Or why?”

“He wouldn’t have been able to,” Castiel assures him. “We’re on a private, heavily protected network; it had to be someone with access and credentials.”

“Dear God, he had  _ help _ .” Joshua breathes. 

“That explains a lot,” Balthazar adds, “Michael wasn’t one for research. If he had a partner…”

“If he had a partner,” Sam continues, “Then there might still be copies of the texts and lore out there.”

“We have to go back to the police station,” Dean announces, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “I’ll call Jody, see what’s going on over there and if we can sneak in.”

Castiel nods, “The computer has to have a record of who accessed it. If we can figure out how to get to those records…”

Dean winks at Castiel. “No worries on that front, Cas. We know someone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another huge THANK YOU to everyone who's been leaving comments and kudos! Y'all are the best.


	8. Cameras

Dean’s pretty familiar with police stations. He’s been in them for a variety of reasons over the years, mostly to gather information on hunts. But he’s been in them as an arrested criminal, and even a handful of times as someone reporting a crime. 

Despite the edge he lives on with concern to the law, he’s always found them to be kinda comforting. They’re all so similar. The same fluorescent lit lobbies, smelling like industrial cleaner and sweat. The same desk sergeant behind a high desk or plexiglass wall - their eyes always a mix of steadiness, wariness and exhaustion. The same investigations department, filled with a haphazard collection of desks, sometimes large or sometimes very small depending on the size of the department. Detectives hover over stacks of reports, pecking at their keyboards, cups of terrible burnt coffee at their elbows. 

Cas’ department is no different. They go through the back, using the same door they snuck out of earlier that night. Jody is waiting for them. 

“Castiel!” she greets warmly and some of the concerned lines in her face drop away. She rests a hand on Cas’ shoulder and peers into his eyes. “I see you’ve finished tumbling down the rabbit hole. Thank you for looking after these boys for me, I know it’s always a hassle.”

“Hey!” Sam protests good naturedly from behind Dean. 

“They made the burden a mostly painless one, I promise.” Cas reports dryly. He has to remind himself that it’s only been a few hours since he last saw her. It feels like years.

“Uh huh,” Jody says with mock skepticism. Dean sees her eyes linger on the new grey in Cas’ hair though, and the concern returns in force. 

“Things are still stirred up here,” She goes on to explain. “The camera room is cordoned off right now. Crime scene finished up just a few minutes ago. Uriel and pretty much every captain is still milling around upstairs though. Chief's here too, by the way.”

“How did you end up explaining what happened?”

“Well, since all the cameras and systems were down, I went with a story of: we have no clue what happened.”

Cas squints at his superior, his face confused. Dean’s starting to seriously wonder at how many quirks of this man he finds endearing. 

“I don’t understand, you ‘responded’ to the room. You just said you didn’t find anything?”

“Exactly. The power went out and I told you to go home, remember? You were never here at all. So I just said that I went into the room and found it empty, bullet holes in the wall but no one anywhere. No one knows what the hell happened, except that someone was shooting at something in the camera room.”

“What about your car?” Dean points out. “Wouldn’t someone have noticed it was still in the lot?”

Cas looks back at him. “I walk to work,” he explains simply. “I live about a mile away.”

“That’s...damn. That might actually work. If all the systems were down, there’s no record at the doors. And the cameras were all off so there’s no footage of when or how you left…” Sam trails off, clearly wracking his brain for any other possible weaknesses in Cas’ alibi. 

“Plus,” Jody goes on to explain, “I did text Cas and tell him he could leave, and Cas agreed to go - that’s on record. The shots fired call came almost an hour later. They’re still going to want to interview you about your shift however, just a heads up. I’m actually surprised they haven’t called you yet.”

Cas pats his jacket and pulls his phone out of a pocket. He huffs a laugh once he sees the screen. “They have, actually. Looks like Captain Freeman texted me about an hour ago.”

“Okay, so Cas is covered.” Dean states, getting back on track. “But we still gotta get into that camera room to look at the system. I talked to Charlie on the way over here. She’s gonna need the IP address for the computer so she can remote into it.”

“How long does she need?” Jody asks.

“She said just a couple of minutes. After that we can just switch the monitor off and no one would notice anything happening on it.” Sam explains. 

Jody chews on her lip for a second. “How about this: Castiel, they obviously want to talk to you about the end of your shift. Why don’t we go upstairs and use you as a distraction?”

Castiel looks annoyed for a moment, then shrugs. 

“That is probably for the best. We have no idea how long they’re going to want to keep me, however.” His tone sounds resigned, like he’s done this before and knows how tedious it is.

“Yea, and we can’t leave without him, Jody. The monster is um...let’s say fixated,” Dean explains a little hesitantly. Sure enough Jody narrows her eyes at him. He holds up his hands in surrender. “Not our doing, I promise.”

“Uh huh. Castiel you’re not being talked into being ‘bait’ are you?” Jody asks.

“Talked into? No. But I’m afraid that may happen at some point this evening.”

Dean grimaces, but holds his tongue. Jody clearly wants to ask more questions, but like the professional she is, she shelves it and gets a move on.

“Let’s get you upstairs. Boys, give us a couple of minutes to get everyone in the detectives’ room before you sneak up, okay? Don’t forget to avoid the cameras.”

“We will,” Sam assures her. Jody hustles Cas to the stairwell, and out of sight. 

“Could Charlie wipe the cameras for us if need be?” Sam asks quietly.

“Yea probably, but I doubt it’s a good idea. I’ll bet all the footage from tonight's gonna be gone over with a fine toothed comb.”

"Good point,” Sam agrees. They look at the security camera that’s at the end of the hall. Castiel had assured them that it didn’t reach the exit door, nor the stairwell door. He had likewise helped them pick their way to the building itself earlier, guiding them through all the blind spots of the exterior cameras.

“You like him,” Sam states quietly, looking at Dean with that look, the one that’s full of sympathy and something that can’t really be put into words. It’s a lighter version of the one they share whenever someone mentions John. Or when the anniversary of Jess’ death comes around. A particular mix of shared history - knowledge of ‘the life’, remembrance of the losses, compassion for the coming hurts. Dean sighs. He’s been awake for almost 24 hours now, and he’s not really in the mood to put up his normal facade. Sam always sees right through it, anyway.

“Yea, I do. He’s a tough little nerdy dude.”

“We’re gonna have to use him as bait, Dean.”

“We don’t know that for sure.” He tries to sound confident, but he knows he fails.

“No, we don’t,” his brother concedes anyway. “But it’s likely. You know we’re probably going to have to recreate the same trap that the original hunters did; it’s the only thing we know for sure works.”

“ _ Right now, _ it’s the only thing we know for sure works right now -”

“Yea,” Sam interrupts gently. “Yea it is, and this isn’t a monster that we can run the risk of letting go.”

“Just…” Dean rubs his hand over his face. He hates waiting. He especially hates waiting when he’s had no sleep, ‘cause then he has time to think about how tired he is. “Look, man, all I’m saying is that we got very little in the way of information right now, okay?”

Sam nods, but Dean can feel how much Sam is placating him here.

“So one thing at a time, okay? Let’s figure out who was helping Michael; we have no idea what that person may know.”

“Alright.”

“Okay. Has it been 2 minutes yet? I’m going to fall asleep standing up if we don’t do something,” Dean says while shifting impatiently from foot to foot.

“Yea we should be good. You lead the way, I don’t know this part of the building.”

“Let’s hope that your intimate knowledge of the interrogation rooms isn’t needed,” Dean remarks. He shoves the door to the stairwell open and quickly climbs the stairs, Sam right behind him.

“Well you’ve said it outloud now, so we probably will at some point.”

“Ugh, how superstitious are you?”

“Me?  _ Me? _ Who wanted to see a hoodoo root doctor over all the broken mirrors from the Bloody Mary case?”

“Hey, Dr. Buzzard said it was good we went to see him! I counted Sam, it was like 140 years of bad luck!”

“You’re proving my point.”

“Whatever, that was perfectly reasonable.”

“So’s this. You don’t put shit out in the universe like that Dean, not unless you’re prepared to have it come true.”

Dean opens the door at the top of the stairs and peers out carefully.

“Speak the name of the devil and he appears, huh?” Dean asks, dropping his voice to a whisper.

The way is clear, and Dean steals down the hall. Cas warned them that there were only two cameras on the second floor. Thankfully they’d only have to sneak past one of them, up ahead at the next junction. 

“Words have power,” Sam reminds him needlessly. Dean spies the next camera and waits for it to rotate to the right while he and Sam swiftly hustle all the way down and duck into the last doorway, which is open but has got a few strips of crime scene taped limply across.

Dean looks around the room, and it appears exactly the way it did earlier this evening, except for the signs that forensics has been here. There’s black patches of powder clinging to nearly every surface - fingerprint dust; as well as little taped arrows on the walls where the bullets punched holes. Behind him, Sam uses the edge of his flannel to cover his hand and nudge the door shut.

“I know words have power,” Dean assures his brother. “I’m just afraid that right now, tonight, no one’s listening.”

Sam gives him a sort of tight, understanding look. They’d had many moments in the past where they’d both felt like that. Dean points to the computer at the back of the room, against the far wall.

“It’s that one,” he says, moving quickly across the room. He gives a small pause over the spot on the floor where The Empty had first vanished. Dean realizes that the thing hadn’t teleported, but rather that the floor here was so uneven and old that it had literally slithered in between the floorboards. He shudders.

The computer comes awake under Dean’s hands, and a plain, standard Windows desktop greets him. 

Sam leans forward too, “That’s weird. Didn’t Cas say he left it on the footage of The Empty?”

“Maybe Crime Scene closed it?”

“Do you think they noticed the date and time on the footage?”

“I hope they didn’t,” Dean replies, pulling his phone from his pocket. “‘Cause we’re gonna be deleting it and I don’t want any suspicion falling on Cas.”

“Jody would have mentioned it.”

“She would, but only if she knew.” Dean points out while calling Charlie.

“What’s up, bitches?” Charlie’s voice comes in chipper over the speaker, sounding perfectly awake and full of energy. Dean envied her a great deal at the moment.

“Just need some more of your magic,” Dean says.

“Always willing to lend a hand, especially when it’s a fun task. What’cha need?”

“I need you to hack into a computer on a secure city government network and tell me who uploaded some camera software to it.”

“Are you near the computer?”

“Standing in front of it right now.”

“Well then this is gonna be a cake walk.”

“Sorry I couldn’t make it more interesting, if it helps it’s on the city police network.”

“Meh, I’ve already hacked them once tonight to get to their dispatch server. They’re not nearly as good as their sysadmin thinks they are.”

“Well, we are pressed for time,” Sam says from behind Dean, keeping an eye on the door at all times. “So maybe that’s a good thing.”

“Can’t argue with that logic!” Charlie agrees. “Okay hit me with the IP address. If you check the toolbox next to the clock in the bottom right corner of the screen one of the icons will have it.”

Dean jiggles the mouse and hovers over the different tiny icons until one obligingly displays the IP for the computer.

“109.45.2.1,” Dean reads off. There’s a clatter of typing over the open line.

“Okay, I’m in.” Charlie announces, and the mouse on the screen begins to move with purpose. Dean steps back and watches Charlie work. She clicks through a series of screens quickly, and then pulls up a command prompt. 

“I’m only going to be able to get you a username,” Charlie says as she types in a query.

“That’s okay, Cas says that all usernames are a combination of people’s last and first names. So we should be able to ID them from just that.”

“Well yea, but keep in mind that if someone was clever enough to get this far they might have logged in under someone else’s credentials to avoid this very scenario.”

“Let’s see who it comes back to first.”

“Right to! Let’s see who the winner is shall we?” Over the open line the brothers hear her drum her hands against her desk in a drum roll. The command window finishes running and spits out a final answer at the bottom.

Dean leans over, reads off the username, and sends a text to Jody.

→ ← 

When Castiel participated in interrogations in the past he almost always played the stoic one. People always assume that interrogations or interviews are always going to be some variation of good cop, bad cop - Castiel blames crime dramas - but in all honesty that tactic is rarely used. Instead, each detective has a strength and they oftentimes will pick whoever seems to be a good match to whatever suspect or witness is being spoken with. 

For instance, Anna? Anna will make you feel guilty. It’s like...this inborn talent of hers. If you feel even remotely bad about anything you’ve ever done in your life, she will get under your skin. She’ll bring up your family, your deceased loved ones, your favorite pet, whoever in your life you wanted to make proud but failed to, and she pry you up from there. She’s not even particularly mean about it. She just has this sincere air about her that means this tactic works fiendishly well. 

At the opposite end of the spectrum is Raphael. He’s the mercilessly logical one. He’ll sit with you for hours if necessary, and just wear away at your arguments with the patience of a mountain. He’ll guide you through all of your options, all of your possible paths forward and cut through each one with the razor sharp rational edge. Raphael will point out every flaw in your arguments, every chink in your plans, until all that’s left is the conclusion that he’s right, your only way out is to cooperate. 

Castiel’s style has always been a very simple one. He’s just quiet. Steady, temperate and quiet. You’d be amazed at how much people will say just to fill the silence.

The state authorities have arrived to investigate the ‘station shooting’ as it’s being referred to. Despite them being in charge of the case and scene, Castiel is still interviewed by one of his fellow detectives, though one of the staties does sit in and take notes. 

“So you left after Lt. Mills said you could leave?” Uriel asks, looking at Castiel’s phone, where he opened up his text conversation with Jody. Surprisingly, they aren’t in one of the interview rooms. Granted, he prefers this: it’s easier to keep tabs on everyone out in the bullpen. He’s sitting at his usual desk actually, the chair turned to face the room rather than his work space.

The central investigations department, or just ‘central’, is a large room, but a relatively narrow one. It is somewhat haphazardly divided into sections using groups of five or six cubicles. Each little group is a separate investigations unit. Burglary is over by the interview rooms along the back wall, next to them is white collar, then motor vehicle crime. Then there’s robbery, where Castiel is, and at the other final end is homicide and assaults. SVU gets their own office space across the hall, but they share the area with the victim’s advocates and records.

The room is not really built to accommodate a bunch of people clustered around one desk space, but that doesn’t matter. Four of his fellow detectives, three captains, and the state investigator are gathered around close, listening. Jody stands in the periphery, near the door they came in. 

“I didn’t see any point in staying,” Castiel answers Uriel’s question. “None of the computers in the camera room were hooked into the emergency power. I tried to see if I could get any of them up and running, but when lieutenant told me that all the cameras themselves were down as well, there wasn’t much point to me being here.”

“And you went straight home?”

“Yes.”

“How long does the walk take you?”

“Depends on if I’m in a hurry or not, really.”

“Were you in a hurry tonight?”

“Yes - it was pitch dark out, none of the street lights were working. I’ll admit to being somewhat nervous.”

Gabriel, one of the white collar crimes detectives, snorts a laugh, only to be elbowed by Hannah, a detective from SVU. 

“I got home as quickly as I could,” Castiel continues. “It was about 15 minutes I think.”

“And then?”

“Well the power was out at my place of course, so there wasn’t anything to really do or keep me occupied. I was in bed reading on my phone and just dropped off. Woke up when y’all contacted me.”

Uriel makes a couple of notes on his pad. 

“What about just before the power went out? Did you see or hear anything odd in or near the camera room?”

Castiel pauses and actually mentally reviews the hour before his life went to absolute hell in a handbasket. He shakes his head.

“Nothing comes to mind. I got into work at 1700, the analysts left at 1800. It was business as usual right up until the power went out.”

“When you left did you see anyone near the station? Anyone hanging around or loitering?”

“It was  _ dark _ , Uriel, I could barely see where I was going. But for the record, no, I didn’t see anyone.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lt. Mills pull her phone from her pocket and check it. She keeps a perfectly straight face, but Castiel instantly notices that her shoulders push back and her spine stiffens. 

Sam or Dean have found something. Castiel is sure of it.

Uriel nods, makes one final note, then shuts his notebook and puts his pencil behind his ear. 

“Well, thanks for coming in despite the weird hour, Novak. We appreciate the chance to cover all our bases.”

“Of course, do you need me to stay? I can help go through CAD notes or any footage that we do have?”

“That’s not necessary,” Captain Freeman intercedes. He waves a hand at the gathered crowd. “As you can see we really have more people than we know what to do with for this one.”

“What’s the current theory, if I may ask?” Castiel asks. 

“Well, right now, we think that someone snuck into the building and fired the shots in order to give the suspect we arrested for the  _ earlier _ shooting - the one that killed the power - a chance to escape,” the Captain explains. “Granted, it’s not our case, the state agency will make the final determination.”

“It’s a sound theory,” the state official agrees. “It’s a shame that you weren’t able to get an ID on the guy before he vanished.”

“Anyways,” the captain continues, visibly annoyed now, “You can go, Novak. We’ll call you if we need you, and in the meantime stick with your light duty shifts.”

“Yes, sir,” Castiel responds as he stands. The group of people part for him as he leaves and heads straight for Jody’s side. She wordlessly shows him her screen. There’s a chat thread pulled up on some app he’s not familiar with. The most recent message just says one thing, a username. 

_ greene_uriel _

Castiel is grateful that he’s facing Jody and thus has his back turned to the rest of the room. He knew that intellectually, he would probably know or have heard of whoever arranged to have the cameras at Willow and Harrow. But... _ Uriel? _

He risks a glance over his shoulder.

Uriel, still sitting in the chair he pulled over to Castiel’s desk, is looking right at them both. They stare at one another for several heartbeats. Castiel doesn’t look away, he watches, as patient and stoic as ever. The other detective glances away, he seems to consider something internally, and then looks back up. He subtly tilts his head towards the right, and gives the faintest twitch of his jaw in the same direction. 

Castiel nods in agreement. He then turns to Jody and in a low tone says, “Go get Dean and Sam and bring them down to evidence.”

“Is Uriel meeting us there?” Jody guesses. 

“I think so,” Cas answers, glancing back once more. Uriel is already up and skillfully working his way out of the knot of investigators. There’s two ways to get to evidence from here and it looks like Uriel is taking the back way, using the hallway door at the far end of the bullpen. “I’ve got to go after him.” Castiel insists, already moving to follow the other detective.

Jody catches his wrist, he looks back.

“Be careful. We don’t know how involved he is, or what he wants out of this situation.”

“I’ll remain cautious, I promise.”

“And don’t go running off on your own if he decides to make a run for it. Call me.”

“I will, Jody. I will.”

She lets him go, and Castiel quietly cuts across the bull pen to follow his co-worker.

The evidence locker off the bullpen is a small, squat little closet. It’s not meant for long term anything, and mostly serves as a holding area for anything they take off suspects while waiting for forensics to arrive. The awkward space was clearly added as an afterthought during one of the many renovations to the station. Half vestibule, half storage - it felt more like a dead end than something designed with any real purpose.

Castiel cautiously steps in, keeping half his body shielded by the door, remaining partially in the hallway outside, just in case. Uriel is leaning against the shelving, arms crossed over his chest.

“Get in here, Novak,” Uriel says gruffly. “And close the damn door.”

It’s a risk, but Castiel does exactly that. He shuts the door firmly behind him.

“What the hell, Uriel?” Castiel hisses. 

“So you know, then? What’s after you?”

Castiel has to suppress the flash of anger that wants to roar out of him. How many of his fucking co-workers are aware of the existence of the supernatural?

“I’m intimately aware,” Castiel retorts. “I’ve been running from it all night. How the hell are you involved in all this?”

The other door to the space swings and Dean enters first. His gun is in his hand, but pointed down at the floor. Sam is right behind him, just off his left shoulder, and Jody is bringing up the rear. She bodily shoves both Winchester brothers into the space and yanks the door shut behind them with a snap. 

“Lovely, we’re all here,” Uriel gripes. He hunkers in his suit jacket a little more, as if trying to hide.

“So you’re the dickbag that was helping out Mike?” Dean asks bluntly. 

“I was helping Michael, yes.”

“You set up the cameras at Harrow and Willow?” Sam queries.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well I certainly wasn’t going to monitor that area in person, now was I?” Uriel snipes. He rubs his hands over his face.

“I knew this was going to happen. I tried to tell Michael -” He cuts himself off with a weary sigh and lowers his hands to look at Castiel.

“I saw the footage on the computer. I also deleted it before Crime Scene arrived so there’s no evidence of the thing’s arrival. I set up the cameras at Harrow and Willow; because Michael originally wanted me to be there in person, to see if the entity would really arrive there. But I didn’t trust him, Michael, I didn’t trust him one bit. And well, now I realize that was the right call to make.”

“Why weren’t you the one monitoring the fucking cameras, then?” Dean asks, his voice tight with anger.

“Call went out for an active shooter, that’s why.” Uriel replies, testily. His eyes narrowing at Sam. 

“Good to see you again, Mr. Steve Walsh,” the detective sneers, while Sam shrugs unapologetically. 

“This is taking too long,” Jody announces, clearly out of patience. 

“Uriel, you were helping Michael, why?”

“He was blackmailing me.”

“What? Really?” 

Uriel sends Dean a withering look. 

“Yes, really. I attend, or rather, I attended Michael’s church as a parishioner. I confided things in Michael as a spiritual leader. He leveraged that information against me.”

“So he wasn’t working with you? He didn’t give you information on the entity?”

“Of course not,” Uriel sneers. “What little I know I gathered in spite of him, not because of him.”

“What do you know then?” Jody demands. 

“I know that Michael wanted to let...something out. Release some kind of thing from somewhere because he wants to force people to accept the existence of the supernatural. I know that he wanted to use me as the thing’s first target, or meal, or whatever - but I got around that by using the cameras.”

“And Cas,” Dean interjected, angrily. “You got around that by using the cameras, and Cas.”

Uriel glances over at Castiel. 

“You getting assigned to the camera room was just bad luck, Novak. I’m sorry it latched onto you, but I didn’t plan it that way.”

Dean scoffs, but Castiel thinks that his coworker is being sincere. 

“Uriel, did Michael ever show you any books? Any information? Lore?”

Uriel shakes his head, and Castiel feels the fine edge of hopelessness cut at his heart. 

“Do you know how Michael was going to stop the thing?” Sam presses. “He had to have a contingency plan, right? Something to control it? Or kill it once he achieved his goals?”

“I asked him about that,” Uriel agrees. “But he always waved me off, told me not to worry about it. That he had it under control. I didn’t believe him of course, everything he told me about the thing made it sound unstoppable. But Michael said that he could kill it when the time was right.”

That got everyone’s attention instantly. 

“Michael said that?” Dean asks eagerly, “He specifically said that he could kill it, not trap it, but actually kill it?”

“That’s what he said. He told me that the thing was powerful, but ultimately its gluttony would be its downfall. The thing is incapable of letting a meal go.”

“Think carefully, Uriel,” Jody encourages. “What exactly did he say?”

Uriel pauses for a moment, Castiel watches as he clearly forces himself to think back.

“He told me, ‘I don’t have to trap it again, I’ll just kill it when the time is right. The thing is incapable of letting a meal go, so I’ll just let it follow me to the grave.’”

Sam and Dean both pale, while a look of sadness steals across Jody’s face. 

“So he never intended to survive this, at all, did he?” Castiel asks. 

“That’s the impression I got,” Uriel admits. “Is he dead already?”

“Yes,” Castiel admits. “The thing killed him.”

“Then I guess he got the ending he wanted,” Uriel states, his voice devoid of any kind of feeling that Castiel can hear. 

“What are you going to do?” Uriel asks.

“We have to stop it,” Castiel replies simply. “One way or another.”

“I don’t know about any books or papers, Castiel,” Uriel says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a flash drive and offers it to him. “But I do have this.”

Castiel takes it, “What is it?”

Uriel shrugs. “I saw Michael tonight, right after the shooting here at HQ,” Uriel casts a sharp glance at the Winchesters. “He came here wanting to know about the thing and if it had made it out. I told him about you, and about the cameras. He didn’t really seem that surprised. But he gave me that and told me to put a copy of the footage on it and delete the rest.”

“So it’s blank?”

“I plugged it in, there’s stuff on it. I didn’t look. Didn’t do anything.”

Castiel looks at his coworker, somewhat bewildered by his lack of initiative. Uriel won’t meet Castiel’s eyes. Instead he stares down towards the floor, his shoulders hunched in his jacket again. 

“We have to go, boys. We’ve been here too long,” Jody says, gently. “Thank you for this Uriel.”

The other detective just shrugs. Dean looks like he wants to say something. There’s a tightness around his eyes, and mouth; but Sam wordlessly nudges his brother with his arm. Dean doesn’t look away from Uriel, but ultimately says nothing. 

“We’re meeting up with the others,” Sam points out. “They’re going to be worried, Jody’s right. Let’s go.”

Jody leads the way out of the evidence room, using the same door that they came in. Castiel shoves the flash drive into his pocket and files out after them. 

“Castiel,” Uriel calls. 

Cas turns, halfway out the door. 

“Just...be careful.”

Castiel nods once, and then leaves his coworker behind, jogging lightly to catch up with the Winchesters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> has anyone managed to see Comet Neowise yet? I put off editing this chapter this evening cause I was out in my front yard with binoculars trying to get a bead on it. I THINK I saw it? Whatever I saw was shaped like a little fuzzy snowball, with a vague tail shape.
> 
> Thanks as always for everyone's comments and kudos, y'all fuel me and my creativity. :D


	9. Icor

“We got to keep moving,” Sam points out as they walk up to the Impala. 

Dean takes his keys out of his pocket and pops his Baby’s trunk open with practiced ease. It was a rote motion to him, even in this kind of low light. The street that they’d parked Baby on was one Cas had directed them too. Easy walking distance from the station, but on a quiet residential street lined with old oak trees, ghostly Spanish moss dripping down like pale, scraggly lace. There are street lamps, but they are the original gas kind, and while the lamplight is a friendly yellow-orange flickering glow, it is also a weak one, leaving long and deep shadows.

“I know what it feels like now,” Cas assures them as he paces alongside, keeping his eyes moving upon their surroundings. “When it gets close, I promise I’ll speak up.”

“It’s powered up now,” Sam points out. His brother flicks on a flashlight he retrieved from his pocket, giving Dean a little extra light as he opens the cache and then props up the false bottom with his sawed off. “It might be able to use some kind of hiding technique or something.”

“I...hadn’t considered that,” Cas concedes, but his voice is distracted. Dean looks over at the detective to find him staring curiously at the contents of Baby’s trunk. 

Sam reaches in to pull out his laptop, tucked snugly to the side in its protective case. 

“What...is all this?” Cas asks, approaching the trunk to stand next to Dean.

“Tools of the trade,” Dean explains. He flips open the wooden ammo box and carefully plucks out several more blessed silver rounds. The Empty seems to have shrugged their last few shots off, but they’re still the only things they’ve seen definitely hurt the damn thing. Dean hands several off to Sam, who sets his laptop back down and shifts the ammo into his pocket. 

Cas reaches out hesitantly, and brushes a finger along one of the rosaries that Dean has pinned to the inside of the false bottom’s lid. Dean doesn’t give the impulse any thought. Instead, he fishes out more bullets for himself and Cas. He deftly unpins the rosary that Cas had touched from the backing material. It’s actually one of the first one’s Dean’s ever gotten; he thinks Pastor Jim may have given it to him at one point. The metal is well tarnished, and the cross looks a little battered, but the white stone beads are in good shape. 

He hands the rosary over to Cas, pressing it into his empty hands. 

“Dean-”

“Consider it a souvenir, Cas. So when you wake up in bed a week from now, after all this is over, you don’t think you imagined the whole thing.”

Cas gives Dean a searching look. “I don’t really see how that could be possible.”

“Seen it before man,” Dean tells him, going back to collecting more blessed bullets. “I mean, your buddy, Uriel? I guarantee that in a month, he will point blank refuse to discuss any of this with you. He’ll deny it up and down, and not just ‘cause Michael had him over a barrel, either. Some people can’t live alongside the knowledge. Just can’t do it and still get up in the morning.”

Dean looks over at the man and finds him looking at the rosary in his hands, running a thumb over one of the beads. 

“Does that happen to you both a great deal?” Cas asks, glancing up at them both. He probably remembers what Sam had said earlier this evening about the powers of denial.

“More than we’d like,” Sam admits. “It’d be nice if people...I don’t know, accepted it a bit more so that they could work to protect themselves, their families...man, even their communities.”

“Would that make them hunters?”

“Not really. Being a hunter means you go out looking for trouble, so to speak,” Dean explains, giving Cas a rakish grin. Cas snorts in amusement, but tucks the rosary into his pocket.

The detective then leans in over Baby’s trunk to get a better look. 

“Are the stakes for vampires?” Cas asks, his eyes clearly cataloging the different things Dean keeps on hand.

“Nah, tricksters mostly. Vampires are killed by either cutting their heads off or injecting them with a dead man’s blood.”

“The taser?”

“Rawheads,” Sam answers this time, while he juggles the flashlight and his spare clip. He’s ditching Castiel’s .45 rounds into an empty spot in the trunk so he can put the blessed ones Dean handed him back in.

“...is that a grenade launcher?” Cas queries, his voice distantly polite, and yet Dean can read the disbelief in his tone. 

“Haven’t had cause to use that one yet, but I’m hoping someday I’ll get lucky,” Dean replies, grinning unrepently. Sam snorts, while Cas looks at him, incredulous. 

“You’ll excuse me if I hope that day never comes,” the detective says dryly. Sam laughs. 

“You and me both, Cas.” Sammy agrees aloud, the traitor.

Castiel gets bolder, reaching out and poking through some of the compartments that are just a weird mix of random things. Spare bullets for the rifles, charms, a few spell ingredients. He nudges open a metal box that used to hold ammo, and Dean almost reaches out to snap it closed, but manages to restrain himself. Cas pauses over the contents, clearly confused.

“Are these...drugs?” he asks, his tone bewildered.

Sam looks up from his work, and Dean sees his brother’s face go flat from the corner of his eye. 

“Why don’t you handle that one, Dean?” Sam answers, attempting to sound neutral. But all Dean can hear is the unsaid ‘you dick’.

“Uh...that’s. That’s something of a last resort.”

“Last resort.” Sam interrupts, clearly annoyed. “Right.”

Cas is looking at them both with worried eyes now. Dean sighs.

“Sometimes, there’s things that can only be done if you’re not...in your body. Sometimes you gotta be a spirit.”

He’ll give it to the detective, the man is clearly good at reading between the lines. He pulls his hand back from the box and looks at them both with shock.

“You...what? Does this make you cross over? Temporarily? You die?”

“There’s two doses of two different drugs in there. One to stop your heart and the other to restart it. It’s not...something we do, um...often.”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous.”

“Oh,” Sam chimes in, unhelpfully. “It definitely is.”

“You’ve used it before.”

“It was an extreme circumstance.”

Dean can feel Sam glaring at his back.

“But...it worked?” Cas asks, his tone careful.

“It did work,” Dean replies firmly. 

An awkward silence falls on them, one that Dean doesn’t know how to break. Sam is still pissed, and Dean gets it. If Dean had been the one to watch Sam use the drugs on himself during that ghost hunt at Grand Junction, then he’d probably still be pissed about it too. Even if it was more than five months ago. Even if the hunt was a success since Dean got the location of all the bodies and they were able to lay all of those trapped, tortured souls to rest. 

Cas carefully reaches out and closes the box. After that he reaches out and taps a finger against the painted devil’s trap on the trunk lid. 

“Devil’s trap,” Dean explains, grateful for the reprieve. “It’s a trap for demons.”

“Why is it on the trunk lid? Reference?”

“Nah, keeps the fuckers out of the trunk. Also means we can use it to transport ‘em if we gotta.”

“I...see,” he replies dryly. “And do you often transport bodies in your trunk?”

“More often than I’d like. Blood’s a bitch to get out of carpet.”

Cas sighs, and rolls his eyes heavenwards. Dean can’t help but chuckle a little. Dude’s taking all this so well; it’s making him a little giddy.

Sam’s phone chimes and he fishes it out of his pocket. 

“It’s Missouri. She’s wondering where the hell we are.”

“Cas?” Dean prompts.

“I don’t feel it anywhere nearby, but Sam’s right. Since it’s powered up it could be hiding from me.”

“Alright, we’ve got what we need anyway,” Dean shuts the box on the blessed bullets and reaches out to lower the cache lid, replacing the sawed off. Sam yanks his laptop back out just in time. He closes the trunk, and they all pile into the Impala. 

Cas slides across the back seat to sit in the middle. Dean glances into the rear view mirror and sees his silhouette against the back window. He...fits. Dean tries to fight against the thought, tries to push back against the way his heart leaps, but he can’t. 

Dean cranks Baby’s engine, puts her in drive, and pulls onto the road.

→ ← 

Castiel runs a hand over the smooth, cool leather of the Impala’s back seat. When he’d climbed into the back for the first time earlier, Dean had explained on the drive to the station the car’s history in the Winchester family. The man clearly held a great deal of love for her. Even Sam, who had teased his brother over his reverent tone and obsessive descriptions, never once actually disagreed with any of Dean’s exultations.

“Oh wow, so get this,” Sam’s voice interrupts Cas’ thoughts. The detective looks up to find that Sam has booted up his laptop and is already examining the files on the USB that Cas turned over to him earlier. “I think Balthazar was right about Michael getting help on his research. There’s a bunch of scanned images of some old French text with some equally old English translations in the margins. I have no idea what’s with the weird watermark on them though, must be the original source, maybe?”

“Yea?” Dean asks, his tone hopeful. “There someone else we can track down?”

“I’m not sure we’re going to have to,” Sam replies, clearly getting more excited. 

Cas leans forward, pressing his chest against the back of the front bench seat. He cranes his neck to get a glimpse of the bright screen over Sam’s shoulder. The taller man is intently reading through some images of what look like to Castiel to be extremely old, crumbling manuscript pages. The writings in the margins of the original text blocks are in English, but that’s about all that Castiel can make out. Sam apparently has no such problems as he runs a finger along the translations, mouthing the words soundlessly to himself. In the middle of the image is indeed a weird looking watermark; it looks a bit like a stretched out star.

“Dean! I think this is a containment spell of some kind,” Sam relays quickly, stealing Cas’ attention back. “These look like binding elements - hang on where the fuck is page nine - oh here it is - yes, yes! It is, it’s a containment spell for The Empty!”

Dean wildly pumps his fist a couple of times before enthusiastically slapping the steering wheel. “Fuck yes! Thank you douche-bag Michael’s research partner! What do we need?”

“Uh, hang on, hang on, I’m reading. Um...rue, black candles, frankincense, an oak branch, chalk, salt water and, shit, according to this we need a piece of The Empty for this to work.”

“A piece of it?” Cas asks, startled. “How? It’s a liquid half the time!”

Dean slams on the breaks suddenly, causing the car to fishtail a little before halting in the middle of the road.

“Jesus!” Sam exclaims, his hands grasping his laptop protectively, while Cas isn’t quick enough to catch himself and nearly tumbles head long over the front seat.

“I know where we can get some!” Dean explains quickly, a fierce smile on his face.

“Wait, really?” Sam demands.

“Yes, really. Quick, call Joshua or Missouri and find out if they can get the rest of that stuff. Well, actually, everything else but the chalk and black candles, pretty sure we got those in the trunk.”

Sam fumbles his phone out of his pocket and quickly dials someone. 

“Sam?” Missouri’s voice filters up from his speakers.

“Missouri! Change of plan, you with Joshua and Balthzar?”

“Yes we’re all here, what do you need?”

“Rue, frankincense, salt water and an oak branch.”

“Lord above,” Joshua’s voice rings out, “A spell? Will it trap it?”

“From what I’m reading, I think we can sort of contain it? I have no idea for sure of course, but I think this might be what the original hunters of The Empty used to create their first spell, the one that trapped it in the city. There’s notes here about the containment lines only being broken on full moons.”

“We’ll get on this immediately. Where do you want to meet to lay the spell, though? It will have to be somewhere we can keep people away from.” Missouri asks.

“St. Christopher’s,” Balthazar states firmly on the line. “We’ll meet at my church. Michael did enough damage to it that I can keep it closed for a while.”

“How long do y’all need?” Dean asks. He’s begun driving again, after turning the car around and heading back into the city..

There’s a few seconds of rapid coordination on the other end of the call, but they seem to reach a consensus easily.

“Give us half an hour.” Joshua says finally.

“Fantastic. Can one of you call Jody and get her to meet us at St. Christopher’s as well? She was on her way to you,” Dean requests. Missouri confirms that she will and Sam ends the call with his thanks.

“Where are we going?” Castiel asks.

“Harrow and Willow.”

“Why?”

“Because when I stopped to check the intersection earlier tonight there was this gunk in the road. Didn’t know what it was at the time. But now, after seeing The Empty attempt its best impression of The Blob? Yea, that shit was definitely some kind of leftover or remnant or something.”

“You’re sure it was The Empty, though? It wasn’t just...I don’t know, road tar? Old heroin? Puke?” Sam asks.

“Okay, one? Gross. Two? I know what all three of those actually look like, don’t even with me right now. And three, yes I’m fucking sure, Sammy. I didn’t pick it up or touch it, but I’m fucking positive.”

“Why do you know what old heroin looks like?” Cas interjects.

Both brothers shoot Castiel an incredulous look over their shoulders at him. They did it in such perfect tandem and Castiel struggles for a moment not to chuckle. 

“Not the point right now, man.”

“I was just curious.”

“Yea, well, I promise we can have an in depth conversation about marginalized populations being at a higher risk for more than just the ‘normal’ kinds of violence. But for right now, let’s focus on the fact that when The Empty finished crawling out of whatever in-between place that it uses to apparate, it accidentally left a bit of itself behind in the street.”

“Very well, will there be enough to use?”

“Sam?”

“I’m still reading, but I think we’re only going to need a little bit. Just enough to dip one end of the oak branch in?”

“Should be enough,” Dean replies, sure. His excitement is infectious. The car turns onto another street and Cas can see the intersection where all this started a few blocks ahead. 

Dean doesn’t bother pulling off to the side of the street. He just rolls to a stop, puts the car in park, and hops out. Cas goes to get out as well, but Sam sucks in a sharp breath of surprise and it brings Cas up short.

“Sam?”

“I think I know what Michael was planning,” Sam says faintly. He zooms in on a section of the manuscript and leans in closer. His face appears ghostly and washed out in the pale blue light. 

“What do you mean?”

“Remember what Uriel said Michael told him? Whoever wrote this spends several pages theorizing about The Empty’s true nature. And he or she uses the same language, they’re talking about how The Empty is a creature of pure gluttony and that could be used against it.”

“How so?” Cas presses, leaning over the seat again, looking at the pages in question. Sam points to a small section of cramped English script that he’s magnified. The results are somewhat blurry, but still legible. Cas is peripherally aware that Dean’s rummaging around in the car’s trunk again, probably looking for a clean container of some kind.

“Basically, they think that if a victim of The Empty were to...well, were to die while The Empty was feeding on them but not necessarily die  _ of The Empty’s _ feeding, then the writer thinks that instead of being consumed the victim could sort of draw The Empty with them into the afterlife.”

“Oh, the comment about not letting a meal get away?”

“Yea exactly, the writer thinks that The Empty would just...die with its victim, essentially. Because it would refuse to let go.”

Dean slams the trunk shut, causing the car to bounce a little on its shocks. Cas watches him through the windows for a few seconds. The hunter swings around and jogs forward to stand in front of the hood. From there, he carefully and methodically searches the pavement, swinging a flashlight back and forth slowly, eyes fixed downward. 

“And The Empty wouldn’t be able to come back?” Cas asks, moving his gaze back to Sam’s computer.

“The writer doesn’t think so.”

“But why not? Surely there are plenty of souls to feed on in the afterlife? And if it can truly shift between planes of existence how does dying keep it out of this...world? Plane?” Cas stumbles over the terminology a little, but Sam is nodding along. 

“I’m not completely sure, but I don’t think it can feed off dead souls. It needs that spark of life, actual, living, breathing life. If it got stuck on the other side, I think it’d be genuinely stuck there.”

“Could it go to hell?”

That brings Sam up short, he looks up, tearing his eyes away from the manuscript for a second to stare into the middle distance, clearly thinking hard. 

“I mean...I guess anything is possible? But it wouldn’t be  _ here _ . I think that’s probably the most important part. Even if we trap it at Balthazar’s church, how long is that gonna work? We just keep it trapped in the basement forever?”

“Bathazar’s church doesn’t have a basement.” Cas points out. Sam chuckles a little, his smile wry. 

“I wasn’t being literal,” Sam explains. 

“Oh, right.” Cas replies, shaking his head. He refocuses on Dean. The other man is now about 15 feet away from the car; still making slow passes along the street with his flashlight, eyes focused intensely. 

“What...what if the person The Empty wanted to feed on were to inject themselves with that heart stopping drug while it was feeding on him?” Cas asks quietly. He doesn’t look at Sam when he asks, instead he keeps his eyes fixed on Dean. 

Sam is silent. Cas can  _ feel _ the consideration that is happening just scant inches away. Several uncomfortable seconds go by, and finally Cas has to look over at the other Winchester brother. 

He’s looking back at Castiel, his face solemn. Sam has lovely hazel eyes, Castiel notices, while they look at each other. There’s something sympathetic in his expression, heavy with deep understanding and overlaying that is a clean edge of cold intelligence. There is calculation there, and Cas feels as though he’s being placed into a set of scales. The detective doesn’t have to  _ actually _ see the math to know how he stacks up against the survival of his city and the safety of those that live in it. 

“My brother likes you, you know,” Sam states suddenly.

Cas’ mouth is dry. 

“Your brother is very...personable.”

“He’s a flirt,” Sam returns calmly. “But I’m not talking about the things he does to distract himself, or unwind. I’m talking about how he really, actually likes you. A lot.”

“We’ve known each other for about 5 hours, Sam.”

Sam shrugs his shoulders, dismissive. Castiel looks out through the windshield again. Dean is crouched down in the street, using a knife to scrape something up off the road. Cas can just barely make out a large, somewhat drippy glob of black icor.

“I like him too,” Castiel admits. “But... this is my home, Sam. I’ll do anything I have to, to protect it.”

Dean drops the knife into a container and closes the lid. He holds it out away from his body, like it’s grossing him out, and makes his way back towards the car. 

Sam hasn’t looked away from Castiel at all, but he seems to know their time has run out. He gives the detective a tight nod. 

“We’ll call it Plan B, alright?” he asks. 

Castiel nods back. 

“Plan B.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for your comments and kudos! I appreciate you all! 
> 
> The artwork in this chapter is by the one and only: purgatory-jar! (https://purgatory-jar.tumblr.com/) Please go visit her Tumblr and enjoy all her incredible art. :D
> 
> Stay safe out there <3


	10. Rituals

Balthazar’s church, St. Christopher’s, is much smaller than the other two Dean’s been in tonight. In comparison to the soaring spire of St. Hubert’s, or the clean Grecian columns and edifices of St. Michael’s, this church looks small and almost squat. But it still has a certain kind of charm to it, with its short, little gothic looking spires ringing the peaked roof like a crown. It has a generous plot of land too, and parking on the street out front, which Dean definitely appreciates. 

Balthazar is outside, one of the front doors standing open behind him, warm light spilling out onto the steps. He gestures them inside, and Dean wastes no time in going, trusting Sam and Cas to get what they need out of the trunk while he carefully carries the Chinese food container with both hands like it might explode. 

The interior of the church is just as understated as the outside, Dean notices instantly. The nave is small, with two columns of pews on either side of a single central aisle. But despite its simplicity, there is an air of quiet contemplation that not even the jittery energy of himself, Balthazar, Joshua, Jody and Missouri seems to disturb. The ceiling is curved with beautifully carved arches, no doubt designed to funnel sound from the altar to the furthest row. Hanging electric lantern style lights hang from the gathered points of the ceiling curves; and someone, probably Balthazar has lit the plain candles at the altar, illuminating the warm brass of the organ pipes that stand in the chancel. 

Balthazar waves him over to the left, where the pews have been pushed forward, closing the space between the last few rows. They’ve already got two gallons of saltwater waiting for him in milk jugs. Missouri has a bag of leaves clutched in hand, while Joshua waves a largeish oak branch at him. Jody shakes a mason jar full of frankincense.

“How’re we doing this then?” the police lieutenant asks.

Sam and Cas come jogging in behind him. Both have a duffel bag each, and Sam is already pulling out his laptop, dropping his duffel next to the back of the moved pews. He opens the lid of his laptop; it’s still on and has the pages from the scanned book pulled up. 

Dean waves the rest of them over towards Sam, “Sammy’s got the how-to guide.”

Joshua and Balthazar quickly make their way over to Sam and both lean in to have a look at the text. Dean sets the Chinese food container down next to the jugs of water, relieved to be rid of it. The entire time he held the stupid thing, he half expected it to jump to life and try to escape the box.

“Where did you get this?” Balthazar breathes, a strange terrified edge to his voice. Dean frowns, more than a little thrown to hear the British priest so unsettled. The hunter gets up from his crouch and joins the others crowded around the laptop in Sam’s hands.

“The thumb drive Uriel gave us; didn’t Jody explain?”

“...and he got it from Michael?”

“That’s what he said, yes,” Cas agrees, he’s also staring at Balthazar with a confused look on his face. Good, Dean thinks, so it isn’t just him. Something seriously rattled Balthazar’s cage. 

But Balthazar doesn’t say anything else, instead he reaches out and with a lone, shaking finger traces an unseen line on the screen of Sam’s laptop.

“Have you seen this before?” Sam asks. “Do you know where it came from?”

“Originally? No, can’t say I recognize the text. But the watermark...I know who that belongs to.” Balthazar is speaking but it’s as though he’s a long way away. Dean’s familiar with that kind of state, he knows suddenly that whatever Balthazar is remembering, or reliving, it happened a long time ago. 

“Who...does it belong to? Can we trust them?” Dean asks, keeping his voice even and quiet. Jody and Joshua both are looking at Balthazar with concern. Missouri just looks on with compassion and a great deal of sadness.

“You can trust the information,” Balthazar replies, his accent is thicker, rougher. “But I would recommend  _ never _ trusting the Men of Letters.”

Joshua inhales sharply. He immediately reaches out and rests a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Balthazar, my friend…” he says, a note of helplessness in his voice.

“I’m alright, Joshua.”

“You are not, but you will be. They’re not here.”

“But...Michael...he  _ contacted them _ . He must have to have this. They must have sent him this information...he was working  _ with them _ .” There is a new level of heartbreak in Balthazar’s voice. Dean doesn’t know how, or the particulars, but somehow, somehow to Balthazar,  _ this _ is a bigger betrayal than letting out The Empty. 

Frankly, that tells him everything he needs to know about whoever or whatever the Men of Letter is. 

“Balthazar,” Sam speaks seriously, drawing the priest's attention. “I’m sorry for whatever you’re going through, but we need you to be sure. Will this spell work?”

Balthazar straightens, his shoulders falling back as he takes in a deep breath.

“Yes, it’ll work. The Men of Letters have the largest repositories of information on the supernatural in the world. I’d stake my life on it. You don’t have to doubt their information, only their methods.”

“Would they have given Michael false information? To betray him? To trick him?” Dean presses.

“No, Michael intended to kill The Empty. That’s what they want, ultimately, they want to kill anything supernatural.”

“Okay,” Dean relaxes, not seeing any hint of uncertainty in Balthazar. “Then we keep going.”

Dean picks up Sam’s duffel with the box of chalk sitting in it. He goes to brush past Cas, but the detective isn’t looking at him; he’s not looking at any of them. He’s looking towards the doors, head cocked to the side like a dog listening for a sound that’s too distant to really make out.

“We should hurry,” Cas says abruptly. He immediately swings the duffel he has down and starts yanking out tall black candles to hand off to Balthazar. Dean instantly kicks into high gear as well, hurrying over to the circle while digging out the chalk and pressing it into Jody’s waiting hands. He yanks his compass out of an inner pocket and opens it so they can set the candles at the cardinal points of the circle. 

Joshua is wrangling the spindly oak branch around, yanking off extraneous twigs with impatient snaps. Missouri frantically pulls a huge handful of rue leaves from the bag and juggles the jar of frankincense into the crook of her arm. 

“Dean!” Cas yells. Dean looks up, already shoving the compass to Jody who readily takes it from him. Cas pulls his gun, and Dean does the same. The hunter hustles forward, taking position next to the detective as they stand side by side in the middle of the aisle, facing down towards the main entrance doors. The centuries old latch lifts, and the door swings open.

The Empty strolls in with no fanfare, and Dean feels a chill roll down his spine. It  _ looks _ like Cas. The facsimile is flawless. But it’s only skin deep. There is nothing of Cas’ kindness in that face. Nothing of his passion, or his fierceness. It smiles a black-toothed, shark-like grin at them, and it all just feels so desperately wrong.

“Hello again, dinner.”

“Focus on the spell,” Cas orders the others quietly, Dean shivers. 

The Empty glances to the side and scoffs, “That old thing again? Don’t you hunters learn any new tricks?” It hisses. 

“Why do that if the old one’s work just fine?” Jody snaps; her gun out and pointing at The Empty. Sam wordlessly hands the laptop over to Joshua, and draws his own weapon. 

“This isn’t going to go like last time,” The Empty whispers. He sends his gaze over Cas’ form from feet to the top of the detective’s head. Dean isn’t the focus of that look and he still feels gross. Cas holds his ground.

“No,” Cas agrees, his voice still quiet and even. “It’s not.”

Dean feels like he’s in the middle of a scene from a western. Two gunslingers facing off across an empty road, each waiting for the other to make the first move. But the tenseness of the air, the almost eerie stillness is weighed down by more suspense than Dean has felt in a long while. They don’t know what The Empty is fully capable of now, and it seems confident enough to just wait and stare at Cas, even while the others are frantically throwing the rest of the spell together in the corner. 

It feels like all the air leaves the room; a vacuum takes hold. Dean is standing so close to Cas he feels the man stop breathing, and knows a second before it happens where that shot is going to land. 

Sure enough, Cas puts a blessed bullet right through The Empty’s left eye. The monster flinches only slightly. A gory hole remains behind, black where it should be red and pink, it turns Dean’s stomach more than had it been flesh, he thinks. The Empty opens its mouth wide to grin and then laugh. 

“Was that supposed to hurt?” It giggles.

“You flinched,” Cas retorts calmly, and then puts another three in The Empty’s chest. This time it definitely jerks back, feeling something. It then roars, an eldritch howl that sends all the hair on Dean’s body standing on end. All of the bullet wounds close over with small hissing sounds, the back icor that seems to make up The Empty’s true visage coalescing over each before the image of Cas’ face and clothing returns. 

“I will pay back each of those, and every one you’ve given me, ten fold!” It screams at them. 

“De profundis,” Balthazar’s voice rings out with the beginning of the spell, “Clamavi ad te Domine!”

The Empty screeches, an ear splitting cross between a velociraptor and a jet engine. It whirls towards where the others have finished the spell and have begun the casting. Sam doesn’t even hesitate, he just shoots The Empty five times, knocking it back just a couple of steps.

“Do you think this is going to  _ stop me _ ?!” It roars. It presses its right hand out and then clenches a fist. Balthazar yelps, but rallies and keeps on shouting the spell. Joshua doesn’t skip a beat, he picks up the spells words too. The Empty sharply draws its fist towards its chest and then shoves out like it’s throwing a punch.

Balthazar is dragged forward and then shoved back, the laptop slipping from his hands and falling to the wooden floor with a crash. His body doesn’t stop like The Empty’s fist, however. Instead, Balthazar seems to take on all of the force, plus some, and is thrown back through the stained glass window behind him. He hits it with enough speed to shatter the entire thing, and is flung fully outside. 

Joshua keeps shouting the lines of the spell, almost to the end of it. The candles around the circle that Jody hurriedly scrawled out erupts into flame. The fire is bright red and roaring up a good three feet into the air. Missouri jumps back in apparent surprise, and Dean sees her trip, narrowly managing to make herself fall back and not into the circle. The empty jar that had the frankincense goes flying out of her hands and rolls into the aisle. 

Jody kneels down and one-handedly wrenches open the lid of the Chinese take out container, just in time for Joshua to slam the end of the oak branch into the bottom of it, hopefully picking up the scrapings of The Empty that Dean had dutifully collected. 

The Empty rushes down the aisle as Cas and Dean open fire, emptying their clips at the creature. It powers through the first three or four, but it has to slow down as they carry on. It grabs for the back of a pew, holding on to keep itself somewhat upright. It doesn’t gasp for breath, or heave, or anything it just shudders, heals the wounds and looks up at them with empty eyes and black teeth. 

“My turn,” it growls. With one sharp jerk of its hand, Dean goes flying into the pews on his side. It hurts like a mother fucker, but he lands on his back with a grunt. Without giving himself a second to recover or think, he uses his feet to find purchase on the pew’s side surface and shove it into the aisle. Adreline must be doing him serious favors because the fucking thing goes screeching across the floor and slams right into The Empty’s side. It might have its fancy powers back, but it's clearly not sturdier than your average human, as it topples. Cas darts away to Dean’s side, heaving him up with one hand, dropping the clip from the magazine of his gun with the other. 

Dean finds his feet, and Cas is free to use his other hand to yank another clip from his pocket and slam it home. The slide clicks forward and just as The Empty is heaving itself up, Cas shoots it in the kneecaps. The blob monster isn’t immune to fucking gravity and without legs to stand on, it...for lack of a better description, oozes back onto the floor.

“Go help Balthazar!” Sam is in the middle of hustling Missouri out the door. Joshua tosses Sam’s laptop out of the broken window and climbs out after it, calling for his friend and fellow priest. Jody and Sam stand shoulder to shoulder at the doors, both with guns drawn and pointing at The Empty who is reforming his lower legs while it slides its way upright again. 

In the corner, the flames from the spell circle still burn a hellish red glow, but now there’s a faint shimmering wall up, a glowing cylinder of light. They finished the spell. Now they just have to get the fucking thing  _ in it _ .

Dean clears his own empty clip from his Colt, and reloads as well. The Empty finishes sliding to its newly formed legs and stands staring at Cas.

“I don’t suppose you’ll just get in, if we tell you too?” Cas asks. 

“Would you?”

Cas’ face is grim. “No.”

Cas puts another six rounds into its grinning, smug face. As if they’d rehearsed it, the second Cas pauses, he shifts to the side and lets Dean barrel forward with a shout. Dean lowers his body and just as he did earlier that evening, drives his shoulder into The Empty. Except this time, Dean keeps his feet under him and just pushes the monster back and back. The two of them locked together as Dean holds on to the thing as tight as he can while still moving. 

The Empty sees right through him and goes half liquid, slithering out of Dean’s grasp when he’s only made it a couple of feet back down the aisle. But Sam’s right there, having run forward and as The Empty escapes Dean, it falls right into Sam’s arms. Sam yanks, clearly grossed the hell out, but determined. The two brothers drag The Empty a couple more feet and it goes full black ooze. There’s nothing to grip any longer as it puddles on the floor between them.

Dean looks around frantically, wondering if they could scoop it up somehow, hysterically wishing he had a fucking dustpan right now. 

A hand, recognizably Cas’ hand, with the wrist still dressed in the cuff of the brown trench coat rises from the oil black ooze on the floor and Dean knows what’s coming. His body is slammed to the right again, only this time he’s half lifted and  _ hurled _ into the pews with enough force that he thinks a few of his ribs crack. He can’t breathe.

“Dean!”

He wants to shout at Cas to stay back, but he’s known the idiot for a grand total of 6 fucking hours and he knows the detective isn’t going to do that. There’s another almighty crash, and he hears Sam’s familiar yelp. His worry instantly doubles. Dean still can’t draw in a breath, everything hurts and it feels like there’s a band wrapped around his chest. But, he rolls onto his stomach and looks up just in time to see Cas and Jody shooting at a half formed Empty, nothing more than a pillar of black icor. It shivers and quakes but absorbs the shots. It throws a limb out towards Jody and he hears her body slam into the church doors. 

Cas is out of bullets, Dean’s gun got dropped somewhere between ribs three and four breaking, Sammy is unknown. The Empty reforms, haltingly, the hunter part of Dean notes that it seems to be struggling. It makes it though, it reforms, Cas’ visage scowling at them. It reaches out, clenches a fist again, and this time Cas is the one who lets out a startled shout. The Empty yanks its hand towards its body again, and Cas’ body is yanked towards him in a mirrored response, dragged right into its waiting hands.

Dean doesn’t even have his breath back enough to scream. 

Cas goes pale as a sheet again, that same vital essence seeming to just drain out of him somehow. Like there was light in him, and now he’s being smothered out. 

The Empty in turn is reviving somehow. Becoming more, its presence turning oppressive and forceful in the small nave. It takes a step away from the pews it had been leaning on as it reformed, snarling in Cas’ face.

“Did you think it would do any good? All this running about? All this grasping at your pitiful life? Whatever paltry years you have left?”

Cas is  _ dying _ . Dean can barely see around the pews but he tries to get up, he swings his arms across what floor he can reach trying to find his gun. The Empty takes another step, putting them more in Dean’s line of sight. 

“I’m going to drink you dry,” it howls, “And then I’m going to do the same to your friends.” It moves forward again, and makes eye contact with Dean. As soon as it does, its face changes completely to one of surprise, and its grip on Cas loosens suddenly. 

Dean looks down and in disbelief watches as The Empty looses its balance because it stepped on the fucking mason jar Missouri dropped. It’s a split second. And that’s all Cas apparently needs. The Empty’s grip falters just enough for Cas to use his left hand to grab the things wrist and yank it off his own neck, the rosary Dean gave him is tangled in his fingers. Momentarily free, Cas doesn’t flee, he doesn’t even put distance between them. He yanks his right hand out of his pants pocket. Dean catches the barest flash of plastic and a needle, and Cas is jamming himself in the thigh with a syringe and pressing the plunger. 

Dean’s done that to himself. And now Dean feels like he can’t breath for a completely different reason. Cas stumbles back, The Empty has regained its balance enough to tear its wrist free and grab Cas’ arm instead, the feeding or draw or whatever starts up again. But Cas is already weakening, he’s dropping to his knees, his face breaking out into a sweat. The Empty continues to hold on, and it's laughing in delight now. 

“ _ Cas! _ ” Dean manages to gasp out, and it hurts, oh god it all hurts. Cas glances over and there’s so much in that glance Dean can’t parse it all, but he holds Cas’ gaze, wanting him to know he’s not alone, he’s not going to be alone.

Castiel falters, and falls backwards. The Empty seems to melt again, following Cas down, heedless of anything else. It is sort of falling to its knees, but by the time it hits the ground it doesn’t have knees, or arms, or clothing, or flesh. It’s vanishing, like water vapor steaming from a cup of hot coffee. Little particles are breaking off but instead of evaporating upwards, it seems to be drawn  _ towards _ Cas’ body. It swirls down, disappearing into thin air in the space right above Cas’ chest. 

An empty syringe clatters to the floor. Cas’ breath heaves, gasping, his eyes are clenched shut, limbs twitching. He goes still. Dean feels something like heartbreak shatter through him.

And the church falls silent.

\--> <\--

Castiel doesn’t know what to say about dying. It’s a thing that happens to him though. He’s not sure how to describe it, a fall, a fade, a withdrawal, a vanishing. Something goes out inside of him, and before he really has time to put the sensation into words or frame it coherently, he’s once more fully aware.

He’s still in the nave, standing, in the same clothes as before, one hand still gripping the rosary that he’d died clinging too. He tries to raise his arm so he can look at the chain and beads wrapped around his fingers. The Empty still grips him though, and when Cas looks over it grins brightly at him. 

Castiel instantly tries to jerk away, yanking on his arm but The Empty holds on, laughing. The detective's gaze swings wildly, and lands on...his own body. Cas gapes, unbelieving but the reality remains. Castiel may be standing here, an eldritch horror clinging to his arm, but his earthly body lies a few feet away still in the aisle between the pews, the syringe resting inches from one outstretched hand, the rosary in the other. Dean is shoving a pew off of himself, scrabbling along the floor trying to reach him. Sam is groggily rolling over onto his side, in the back of the room where he landed in the spell circle. He’s clearly injured somehow, his long limbs knock over a couple of the candles, which thankfully appear to go out before rolling away.

“What...the fuck?” A new voice declares, startled. Castiel jumps again, and looks over. The Empty still hasn’t let go of him, but Cas doesn’t feel any different, doesn’t feel The Empty pulling anything from him, nothing like before. 

There’s a woman standing in the corner at the front of the nave, to the left of the altar and pulpit. She’s dressed in business attire, pressed dark grey slacks, a crisp white shirt under an equally neat blazer. Her eyes are so wide, Cas can tell they’re blue even at this distance. 

“This is way above my paygrade, hold on I’ll be right back.” And with that, she’s just...gone. No fanfare, no flash of light, she’s just gone. 

Castiel yanks on his trapped arm again, and this time The Empty lets him go. Castiel takes a few stumbling steps back, putting himself between The Empty and his own body. He sees bruises on his forearm from the corner of his eye, just below where he’d rolled up his sleeves. 

“Clever,” The Empty admits, with a sick smile. “You pulled me over with you.”

“Yes,” Castiel replies, his voice hoarse. “I’m honestly surprised it worked.”

The Empty shrugs, a careless gesture that Castiel is sure he’s never been able to manage so easily in his own skin. 

“I’m not one to let go of a meal, no matter where it tries to escape to.”

“I’m  _ not _ a meal,” Castiel snarls, suddenly so incredibly angry with this entity. It’s not enough that he’s been pursued all night, not enough that he’s  _ died _ . But to be here, in whatever this afterlife is, and to  _ still _ be so easily dismissed as  _ nothing _ but food. “I’m a human being, and you are  _ never _ going to hurt anyone else again!”

The Empty grins at him again. “How are you going to stop me?”

“How are  _ you _ going to get back?” Castiel retorts. He tightens his grip on the rosary so much the metal bites into his fingers. It baffles him how he can still feel pain. 

“There are plenty of souls for me to eat here. I can eat just as well here as I could there.”

“That...isn’t  _ quite _ true, now is it?” Says a new voice.

Castiel gazes past The Empty, back towards the front of the nave. There’s a pale, white man standing before the altar. He’s tall, whip thin, and holding a cane in one hand. Every part of the man is at ease, he leans idly on the cane like he doesn’t really need it. His clothes are the same as the woman who’s returned and now standing deferentially behind him - black business formal with pressed creases. He has longish hair, carefully combed back, a peaked hairline, and a strange sort of gauntness to his mouth and eyes.

“You…” The Empty says, surprised and angry. Castiel sees the pinch between his own eyes that he recognizes so easily. It’s half turned towards the altar, trying to keep an eye on both Castiel and the newcomer. Castiel carefully shuffles a little towards the right side of the aisle, wanting to be able to fully see The Empty’s face.

“Me,” the man replies with a cold smile. “And you and I both know that you won’t be consuming any of the souls here.”

“You can’t stop me!” The Empty rages. 

“I don’t need to,” the man continues. “You don’t feed on  _ souls _ , you feed on  _ life _ . And there is nothing living in the realm of the dead.”

The Empty, for the first time since Cas first laid eyes on him, looks shaken. 

“No, that’s not...how it works.”

“You couldn’t feed on him anymore, could you?” the man gestures languidly to Castiel. “You blinked, you were here with him, and suddenly instead of that sweet, nourishing draw, there was nothing to be had.”

The Empty actually takes a hesitant step back. There’s something new on its face, and it is only because Castiel knows his own features that he’s able to read the creature: fear. 

“Then I’ll cross back over,” The Empty rallies, squaring its shoulders. 

“Will you now? How?” the man asks, but there’s a hint of mocking laughter around the edges of his mouth. 

The Empty looks about the room. Castiel follows his gaze around the church, across the scattered remnants of the containment spell in the corner, the askew pews and finally landing on the body of Castiel and the two hunters who are now sitting on either side of it. Sam has one hand on Dean’s shoulder, almost like he’s holding him back. The younger hunter is trembling himself, but he’s holding resolute, staring down at his watch, counting off the seconds. Dean has the other syringe now, gripping it tightly. His other hand is on Cas’, the one with the rosary.

“I’ve fed, I can get myself back,” The Empty is speaking again, pulling Castiel’s attention away. 

“This isn’t another universe that you can just hop out of,” the man chides. “This is my realm, your powers don’t work here.”

“You can’t trap me here! I’m not dead! I can’t die!” The Empty shouts, his black teeth flashing in the dim light. 

“Everything dies,” the man says quietly, and Castiel feels a shiver run down his spine. He hasn’t wondered who the man is, he thinks he knows, but this is the first time he really  _ feels _ the weight of that knowledge. 

“I don’t,” The Empty spits back. 

“ _ Everything dies _ ,” the man repeats, a flash of ...something, disappointment, annoyance appearing on his countenance. “God himself will one day pass from the worlds and into this realm. You are not special.”

“I’m older than God, older than his creations, older than the things he made!”

“But not, older than me,” the man returns quietly. “You may be the Empty, but I am the End.”

The Empty rages with an inarticulate noise of loathing. He makes a furious move forward but Death, because it could only be Death himself, waves a hand and The Empty is brought to a halt. Death walks down the few stairs from the altar to the rest of the room. His footsteps echo oddly. His cane clicks on the wooden floor. 

“I think it is time for you to go.”

The Empty cannot speak, though Castiel can read its desire to, in the straining lines of its face and neck. Death touches its face gently, a hand cupping its clenched and angry jaw, and suddenly The Empty is gone.

There’s no rush of revelation, no bright flash of light to herald its passing, it’s just gone. Castiel seems to be the only one who’s impacted by its absence. All night, for hours he’s been hunted, harried and hounded by that  _ thing _ , he nearly died in its grip,  _ actually _ died to kill it and now it’s gone. In a bizarre way, Castiel felt bolstered by its existence, because while it was there, Castiel had a case, he had a goal. Now it’s gone, and Castiel wonders what will hold him up now.

Castiel reaches out to steady himself on the back of a pew, but his hand goes right through it nearly sending him crashing to the floor. He manages to catch himself however, stumbles to the side, righting his balance just in time. 

Death looks over at him, walks down the last few feet of the aisle between them to stop right before Castiel. His dark, fathomless eyes hold Castiel ensnared. He knows he should be terrified, but he feels more numb than anything else. Besides, what is Death going to do? Kill him?

“Castiel,” Death speaks, breaking their shared gaze to flick his eyes over to where his body lies. “Ah, of course, the Winchesters too.”

The air turns oppressive, and Castiel looks over just in time to see Dean seemingly freeze in place, the syringe raised high over Castiel’s chest. 

“Apologies, I didn’t want you to go rushing off just yet.”

Castiel licks his lips nervously. “Why not?” he croaks. 

“Professional interest.”

“...I don’t understand,” Castiel says helplessly. 

“I’m aware,” Death replies simply. He looks down at Castiel’s hands, which the detective hadn’t even noticed were raised half up in front of himself, as if he was going to somehow ward off Death.

“Are you a man of faith, Castiel?” Clearly noticing the rosary still tangled around the fingers of Cas’ left hand.

“Um...I wasn’t. Not really the praying type. But um…I’ve been re-evaluating my thoughts on God and religion recently.”

Death reaches out with his free hand and with one thin, pale finger touches one of the white beads on the rosary. The dark tarnish on the metal of the chain peels away and flakes off like ash, falling slowly through the air. The cross straightens out from where it was bent slightly. The beads brighten somehow, looking more than just freshly cleaned or new, they look...enhanced somehow. Brighter than white, paler than light...extraordinary. 

“That wasn’t the faith I was talking about,” Death says. He turns his head and looks back over towards where Castiel’s body lays. 

“What were you talking about then?” Castiel asks, feeling the overwhelming urge to draw Death’s attention away from the Winchester brothers. He might be dead, but they certainly aren’t.

Death looks back at him, as though he can read Castiel’s mind. 

“Faith in something greater than yourself. Faith in more than just the bad things people do, more than the things you can just see.”

“Oh,” Castiel says quietly. “In that case, yes. I’d say I was a man of faith.” The detective pointedly does not look at Dean. Even though he so desperately wants to. Death just gazes at him, and Castiel thinks he can hear that thought too. 

“Stop fretting, Castiel.” Death says, his voice still remote. “It’s not their time.”

“Do you know everyone’s time?”

“Not off hand, but the Winchesters are special. They always are, no matter what world they’re in.”

Castiel frowns, surprised. “Special?”

“Oh yes. This time, their destiny missed them by the barest of inches. But it missed them all the same. Still, there will always be...shall we say, interested parties.”

“Interested parties? Like you?” Castiel presses. 

“Perhaps. A destiny may be unfulfilled but that doesn’t mean the mark of it disappears.” Death makes no movement, he doesn’t wave a hand or even twitch a finger, but what Castiel can see changes in a flash. The room is suddenly filled with blazing light. The altar shines like it is a phosphorus flare or maybe even the heart of a star, nearly blinding Castiel. But it’s not so bright that he can’t make out what’s still in the room. Death is a dark shadow, an outline of a man, with multitudes within. It’s a void, but an endless one, and Castiel catches just the barest glimmers of something that might be stars before his attention is arrested by the Winchester brothers. 

Both are still mid-movement. Time hasn’t returned to its normal pace at all. They’re still on their knees, washed out by the incredible light from the altar, but now, now Castiel can  _ see _ . 

There is a crown on Sam’s head, a glowing red, flame wreathed affair, with seven spikes of black iron. It suits his noble brow, but it also makes Castiel so deeply afraid. It’s a sinister thing, a curse, a blight, and something Castiel never wants to see become a reality. 

And Dean, for Dean there is a sword. It’s beautiful, simple and glows such a painfully bright white that it is blue at the edges. It hangs in the air just behind and above his head. It rests parallel to the floor, as though it’s just waiting for Dean to reach up, grasp the hilt and swing it into the earthly world with all his righteousness and fierce strength. But, Castiel thinks with a wide eyed shiver, it also hangs in the air as though ready to fall at any moment and behead him. 

Castiel has to tear his eyes away, afraid that all this light will make him go blind. But before he shuts them against the onslaught, from the corner of his gaze he sees the barest glimpse of feathers. Wings, enormous, black, and jagged with crystalline shafts of light bend around him, as if to encircle him protectively and he feels the answering pull of muscles on his own back -

It all vanishes. The light, the crown, the sword, the wings, the black void in front of him. It vanishes and it’s just Castiel once more, dead, a ghost, standing before Death himself, gasping for breath even though he doesn’t need to breathe. 

Death doesn’t say anything to him, does not offer comfort or platitudes. Castiel can’t feel his heart but it feels like it should be racing. The oppressive air disappears too, and Castiel turns his head just in time to see Dean’s arm slam down, the syringe plunging into Castiel’s chest with such force the detective instinctively flinches. 

There’s a sudden tingling in the tips of his fingers. 

“Will I remember?” Castiel demands, suddenly aware he doesn’t have much more time.

“Maybe.”

“Can The Empty come back from wherever you sent it?”

“Doubtful. However, it escaped once, many millennia ago, so it’s possible that it may do so again one day.”

The tingling becomes a burn. And it crawls up his hands, through his wrists and into his arms and shoulders. 

“The interested parties, the ones interested in the Winchesters are they a threat?”

Death cocks his head to the side, giving him a considering look. 

“Most aren’t, not anymore. A small few probably are. The Winchesters are not unaware, Castiel. They may not know the whys, or the who, or the full story, but they know enough to keep themselves safe.”

Castiel gasps again, he feels like his chest is on fire. He curls forward, pressing a hand over his heart, trying to resist the urge to scream. From the corner of his eye, he sees Dean starting chest compressions. 

“Stop trying to fight against it,” Death says. Castiel can barely raise his head to look at him. 

“How can I help protect them?” Castiel manages to get out through gritted teeth. 

Death looks as cold and as remote as ever, but there is just a touch of something, exasperation? fondness? lurking in the wrinkles around his eyes. 

“You can help them by going back.”

“How?” Castiel demands, everything is burning now. He must be on fire somehow, it all hurts so much.

“Let go,” Death replies. And this time, he reaches out with his hand, palm up and presses it against Castiel’s burning forehead. He rests it there for a split second, just enough that Cas can feel the chill of it, and then he  _ pushes _ . 

Castiel is shoved back sharply, he topples right off of his feet and lands with a slam on his back. 

He gasps a breath of surprise, his eyes flying open. Dean’s mouth is pressed to his lips holding a seal. The other man pulls back instantly, but stays hovering over him.

“ _ Cas, _ ” Dean breathes, his face slack with relief. 

“Dean?” Castiel rasps out, confused. He tries to sit up, tries to get a glimpse over Dean’s shoulder back towards the altar. But Dean holds him down with firm and gentle hands.

“Whoa buddy, whoa, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

Castiel doesn’t have the strength to push Dean away but he manages to flop around just enough that when he raises his head to look down past his own feet he can just make out the end of the aisle. He sees the back of a man dressed in a black, formal suit, his hand wrapped around a cane he doesn’t really need. He’s climbing the stairs of the altar, and then the man is gone. 

Castiel slumps back down, his head thunking on the wooden floor. Sam is on his other side, and saw him look. The hunter glances back towards the altar too, but clearly doesn’t see anything and returns his eyes to Castiel. 

“Is it gone? Cas? Is The Empty gone?”

“Give him a chance to catch his breath,  _ Jesus, Sammy _ .”

But Castiel understands Sam’s concern and so he nods his head. 

“It’s gone, Sam. It’s gone.”

Sam finally relaxes, his face changing from its frown of concern to a warm smile. 

“Holy shit, man. It worked.”

Castiel lets himself chuckle, it’s rusty and it hurts, but he can’t help but share in Sam’s excitement. His emotions are flooding back to him in a wild tangle, his brain feels stuffed full. Giddiness rises to the surface, a weird bubble of bright, manic happiness that makes his chest hurt. 

Or maybe that’s from the chest compressions. 

Dean slips a hand under his shoulders and Sam rushes to do the same on his other side. The two brothers help him sit up. He can’t help how his hand grips the collar of Dean’s shirt, and in doing so, he realizes he’s pressing the rosary against the skin of the other man’s neck. He looks over, and can see where the metal has made impressions in his skin. He can hear Dean saying something, but he’s not listening.

His rosary isn’t tarnished anymore, the cross isn’t bent, and the beads seem to  _ almost _ , but not quite, glow. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this one took me so long! I moved last month and everything in my life has been at utter sixes and sevens for the past few weeks. Huge thank you and shout out to saltyravenclaw for helping me beta this chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has commented and left me a kudos, I treasure every single one of them. <3
> 
> Stay safe out there!


	11. Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are at last.

Castiel rests his forearms on the railing of the sea wall, hunching over just a little to lean more of his weight on it. The fog of early morning hangs over the ocean, and everything is the sort of soft baby blue color that heralds the dawn. When Cas looks over towards the eastern horizon, he can see the edge of the ocean glowing a faint and steady pink gold.

Dean walks up stiffly, clearly favoring his ribs still and takes up position on his left. Sam joins a second later and stands on his right.

“You’ll let us know how Balthazar is?” Sam requests. Cas just nods. The British priest had to be taken to the ER for his lacerations, there was no getting around it. Even when he protested that he could do it himself, he got shouted down by the rest of them. Jody walked away with some spectacular bruises on her back and a knot on the back of her head, but otherwise fine. Joshua and Missiouri were both, thankfully, unharmed.

The gunfire at the church had of course gotten reported. Castiel doesn’t envy the poor forensics team that is going to have a field day with the interior of that church. Jody made herself scarce before the department showed up. Joshua, Missouri and Balthazar stayed to spin a tale of intruders looking for cash who defenestrated Balthazar in anger when he told them he had already turned all the cash donations from Sunday into the bank. Joshua and Missouri both backed this up with their eye-witness accounts, and went on to explain that the robbers had shot up the church to further express their disappointment before fleeing the scene.

Dean and Sam had put Cas in the back of Baby and driven him home where all three of them cleaned up as much as they could. They circled the old limits of the city once, Cas concentrating on trying to sense even a whisper of The Empty anywhere. He comes up with nothing.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you home?” Dean asks.

“I’m sure. I think I need a nice, long walk, to be honest. I’ve got a lot to...unpack, I guess you could say.”

Sam looks sympathetic. Dean just nods in agreement.

“You know you can call us, if you like...need to talk, or ask questions, right?” Dean offers, somewhat awkwardly, Castiel notices. But he’s clearly sincere.

“Thank you,” Cas replies. “I...might take you up on that. I promise to call if I remember anything else about...um…”

“About when you were dead?” Sam finishes, his tone kind, but blunt.

“Yes, about then.”

“Gotta say Cas, that’s pretty wild. I’ve been dead a couple of times and I’ve never seen the big boss himself, only reapers. You certainly got lucky on your first go ‘round.” Dean says, trying to lighten the mood, perhaps.

Cas does smile, “I’m not sure lucky is the word I’d use. It was...extremely unsettling.”

“I’m sure it was. Still, you found out a lot, and it was interesting to hear that Death himself apparently knows who we are.” Sam says.

“Do I get to know the story behind what he was talking about?” Cas asks.

Dean shrugs, “We don’t know a whole lot more than what I’ve already told you, back at Joshua’s church.”

“As for the rest of it...well,” Sam continues. “Maybe later? After we get to know you a little more?”

Dean doesn’t add anything here, he just sort of stares out at the water with a somewhat unhappy look on his face. Cas doesn’t want to pry. As much as he is curious, he’s already got enough stuff to work through right now. And he feels like he needs to be at his best before hearing whatever story the Winchester brothers have to tell about their past.

Castiel knows he’ll be dreaming about black wings for a while though.

“We better hit the road, Dean. I don’t want to get stuck in morning traffic.”

“Hmm,” Dean replies noncommittally, still staring at the water.

“Stay off the interstate,” Cas advises. “Take the coastal highway north, or south, whatever direction suits best until you’re out of state then you can get back on the interstate if you want.”

“Why?” Sam asks.

“The license plate reading cameras, they’re mostly set up on the interstate. You two are probably fine. There’s not been a whisper about your car, but just to be safe.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Sam says with a smile. He claps Cas on the shoulder and gives him a friendly squeeze. “You’ve got our numbers, use them okay? And be careful, The Empty was wearing your face for an entire evening and we don’t know all that it got up to.”

“I will,” Cas agrees. Sam nods one more time at him, and then heads off towards the stairs. He lopes easily down them, and back towards the Impala.

“He’s right, you’ll have to be extra careful for a few weeks.”

“I know, Dean,” Cas replies calmly.

“We’re not kidding. Shapeshifters have taken on our faces and racked up some shitty fucking charges in our names.”

“Shapeshifters?”

“Exactly like the name sounds, weak to silver, not the point right now - stay cautious.”

“Okay,” Castiel returns, turning to look at Dean. The other hunter has already turned towards him, and is looking at him earnestly.

“Call us if you run into trouble, we can get you out if need be.”

Cas frowns, as a police officer not...really liking those implications.

“I’m afraid to ask,” he says quietly. Dean’s mood shifts a little, and he smiles teasingly at the detective.

“Best not, plausible deniability and all that.”

“Mmhmm,” Castiel murmurs in southern, looking at Dean utterly unimpressed with the charm the other man is laying on thick.

“You look cute when you’re trying to be grumpy.” Dean flirts, delight dancing in his green eyes.

“I’m not trying to be grumpy, I am grumpy.”

“You dodged an ancient, magical, life absorbing monster, what do you have to be grumpy about?”

“Other than getting thrown head first into a world where monsters like that even exist?” Castiel retorts.

Dean softens a little, stands a little closer, smoothes one hand up Castiel’s arm from elbow to shoulder.

“It’s the same world, Cas. Just...it’s got a few extra things is all.”

“Yes, yes, monsters, and vampires, and fireballs, and spells.”

“Oh my!” Dean tags on the end. Castiel tries to scowl at him but he doesn’t think he’s successful based on how Dean’s grinning at him again.

“It’s not funny Dean, I have _so many_ questions.”

“It is a little funny, and I promise I will answer all of your questions.”

“And not tease me if they’re dumb ones?”

“And not tease you if they’re dumb ones.” Dean parrots dutifully back.

Castiel sighs, rolling his eyes. He unconsciously steps into Dean’s personal space a little more. They’re almost nose to nose at this point.

“Honestly, how can you be in such a good mood with cracked ribs?”

“The big bad is gone, no one permenantly died to make it happen, and I got to kiss a hot cop.”

Cas gapes at him. Dean keeps on grinning, but Cas can see the uncertainty in the other man’s eyes. His hand on Castiel’s shoulder is shaking just a bit. There’s a blush starting to color his cheeks. The man has freckles. It’s adorable.

“I...have no idea what to say to that,” Castiel manages to get out. Dean’s entire countenance changes. Castiel can see the walls snap up and he’s desperate to stop it because _that’s not what he meant_. “Okay no, two things,” Cas rushes to say, “No wait, three things. One, mouth to mouth does not count as a kiss, seeing as I was dead at the time. Two, If you want an actual kiss please just ask, don’t wait for when I’m dying. And three, what are you doing tonight?”

Dean’s jaw drops a little, clearly taken aback. And then he just starts laughing, delightedly. He’s all glittering green eyes, freckles and the blush is back and Castiel can feel his own face turning red, but this is better. Much better.

“I’ll be escaping the long arm of the law tonight, Cas.” Dean manages to answer after calming down.

“Oh,” Castiel replies, “Of course, right.”

“But I could call you?” Dean asks.

“Yes, yes you should do that.”

“Okay, I will.”

“Good.”

“Can I kiss you, Cas?”

“Please do.”

Cas meets Dean halfway into the lean, he wants to taste the man’s smile and it’s better than he imagined. He’s a good kisser, just the right amount of give, sweetness, and hunger to keep Cas utterly focused. Castiel moves his arms up, hands trailing up Dean’s sides and then over his back. Dean reciprocates, one large hand going to the back of Cas’ head, fingers spearing through his hair, the other dipping to his waist then the small of his back.

Dean breaks the first kiss, but only to suck in a quiet breath before swooping in for a second. Castiel leans back, letting the railing take his weight. Dean presses in as much as he can without bending Cas backwards over the edge. Sam shouts their names, his tone clearly torn between annoyed and happy for them.

Castiel breaks the kiss this time, pulling back just enough so he can see Dean clearly. The sun crests the horizon, and Dean’s smiling face shines in the dawn light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I...honestly can't believe this is over. It seems ridiculous, but I've been working on this story for well over a year. A huge thank you to Jaeh, who when she heard me spitball this idea at her late one night, encouraged me to write it. And then kept encouraging me every time I got discouraged. She's also the one that drew the FANTASTIC fanart for me for this last chapter. I cannot thank her enough.
> 
> I hope that if you've made it this far, that you enjoyed what you read. Thank you so much for spending the time to have a look. I hope you'll leave a comment or kudos!
> 
> Thank you again! Be safe. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up to everyone reading: this story is completely done! I'm uploading chapters as I and my beta edit them. So rest assured, this story will be finished! :D
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, please leave a kudos or a comment! <3


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